Open Pages
by Kari Kurofai
Summary: Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: ****Open Pages**

**Author: **1_with_Russia (Kari Kurofai on )

**Recipient: **seraphim_grace**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel, implied Crowley/Bobby, suggested Gabriel/Sam**Rating: **T**Warnings: **Angst. Possible season 6 spoilers. Vague fairytale references, British demon gay-ness, and a relationship that could be seen as slightly pedo-ish. If you're a perv like that.**Spoilers: **All of S5, and the beginnings of S6 from what we've been lovingly spoiled with so far. :]**Word Count: **36,317 (Last I checked. And that's total)**Notes/Prompt(s): **_"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-"Except what, Geralt?""It has to be true love." _excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski**Summary: **_Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. _

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

**Open Pages**

**Part 1**

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

Castiel wished above all else that he could enjoy his newfound place and position in Heaven, he really did. But that was just the thing, wasn't it. As an angel, he wasn't supposed to _enjoy_ anything. He should have been void of all emotion, just as his perfected brothers and sisters were. That's what they were made to be, after all, the ideal soldiers meant to fight on Heaven's orders, and nothing else. They had no free will.

Which was something Castiel found that he valued above almost anything else. It was what they had fought for, himself and the Winchesters. It was what many of their comrades had died for. It was one thing he didn't want to lose now that he once more resided within the boundaries of Heaven.

Except the once lengthy list of things he never wanted to lose was quickly starting to dwindle down to next to nothing. He'd lost God, and then Gabriel, the one brother of the thousands who had believed in their cause. He'd lost Sam, victim to the fates that left them no other choice. And then he'd lost Dean, bound by the fruitless promises he'd made his brother to fulfill a dying wish, pushed away by Castiel's deliberate cold shoulder.

He had never wanted that, never wanted to abandon Dean who, more than anything else, was terrified of being left behind. But he too had made a promise to Sam, to look after Dean. And he meant to do just that. Dean would be safest if he ceased Hunting all together, if he gave up every aspect of that life he had clung to for so long. _Every _aspect.

Which meant that Castiel, too, had to vanish from his side.

After Dean, Castiel found he was beginning to lose himself. The longer he spent in Heaven, the more he began to forget.

The feel of the wind against the skin of his vessel was the first thing he realized he could no longer recall. Heaven was unchanging, without weather save for the sun that didn't even warm his Grace in the slightest. Soon after come the faint memories of taste. The taste of White Castle hamburgers, of salty sweat stinging his tongue as it streaked long lines down his cheeks and forehead during the heat of battle. The taste of blood as his all too human body succumbed to the pains Pestilence inflicted on him. The raw fire of alcohol burning its way down his throat when Ellen and Jo passed him shot after shot. He found that after a few weeks ( days that translated into immeasurable years in Heaven) he couldn't recall a single one of these sensations. Realization of this fact hurt him more than he knew it should.

He had hated being human, hated the weakness that came with the sudden flood of emotion. It had felt like dying, because that was exactly what it was. Once as ageless as God himself, he'd been trapped in a body that was slowly dying around him. Coming back to Heaven had been his choice because of this, and yet, Castiel knew that the more he forgot, the more he would miss. Those human sensations were as much of a part of who he was as his wings were, and he could feel them slowly peeling away exactly like his Grace had done not too long ago.

He forgot the smell of rain after a hot summer's night, the twinge his senses and the tingle in the air when lightning struck during a storm. Sam's laugh, light but utterly false in the face of the darkness he knew existed just beyond his sight, was the first real memory to vanish, the angel reaching for it as he found himself unable to recall it. But the thing slipped away from him like smoke through one's fingers. Soon to follow was Gabriel's satisfied smirk, flashing brightly behind his eyes before Castiel looked around and realized that it was simply no longer in his mind, replaced with Heaven's unwavering calm.

They were always small details. Little things that didn't do much to contribute to the story in it's entirety. One day he shifted out of his state of rest to find he couldn't remember the color of Jo's eyes, or what she had last said to him the night before she died.

Castiel thought briefly about simply walking into her Heaven and remedying this part of the situation with action, physically reminding himself of those things by seeing her. But he knew what a riot it would cause among the rest of the Host. An angel could not simply stroll through the human side of Heaven, let alone converse with the souls who resided there. It was simply not allowed, and with all the trouble Castiel had gone through just to connect the individual Heavens to make them accessible to whoever wished to move about in them, he wasn't about to push the matter.

Every once in awhile, he'd talk to himself, closing his eyes and relating the activities and chores of the day to no one in particular. Listing the things he had forgotten, the images fading fast before disappearing from his mind entirely. He knew, even though he spoke to no one, that there were listeners. That Ash was listening, tuned in to his angel radio, Jo leaning heavily against him with a beer in hand and Ellen wiping down the counter of the bar not far away. He didn't think they really cared what he said, but it made him feel better to know that somewhere in Heaven, someone was listening. If only for awhile.

Some days, he looked down from his duties of reorganizing the chaos that was his home towards Earth. He watched with detached satisfaction as Dean went about the apple-pie-life he'd promised Sam, as though he was really making an effort to stick with it this time. False movements and empty promises that left Dean sitting on Lisa's front porch most nights, cradling a beer between his knees and his stomach, muttering things to himself, eyes half glazed.

But Castiel heard him, as he always did whenever Dean called his name. Curses, drunken accusations of abandonment and untrue loyalty. Screams that Castiel was nothing but the good little soldier daddy had always meant him to be, and that any humanity he had gained died when Lucifer had snapped his fingers. After a minute or so of Dean rambling on about Castiel being a traitor, the angel listening in silence from his place far above, Lisa would appear to drag him back inside, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors.

It didn't happen often, a few times a month whenever Dean was at the end of his rope with his fake life. But after the months began to wind into a year, Castiel's name ceased to be uttered from his lips, let alone in his mind. So the angel turned his back to watching Dean, concentrating on the impossible task at hand, returning faith to Heaven itself.

He only looked back one other time, when his name was once more spoken on the middle plane. Sam's appearance at Dean's side was of little surprise to him, he'd witnessed the younger Winchester clawing his way out of Hell to appear under a streetlamp just outside Lisa's adobe just over a year ago after all, though he'd expected their reuniting to take a bit longer. Dean's face portrayed nothing as Sam asked, finally asked, where Castiel was. Nothing but a cold and empty, "How should I know, he's not my angel," before he turned viridian eyes back to the road, the highway as dark and forsaken as he felt. Castiel did nothing.

The day Raphael broke free from the circle of Holy Oil and Fire Dean and he had trapped him in, Castiel felt it. His Grace, still shining bright after God had restored him, flickered in what humanity might call fear. Distantly, Castiel reached out and touched the people and places he cared for, making sure Raphael had not found them. Dean, Sam, Jo and Ash's Heaven, Bobby's house. A surge of relief coursed through him before the second wave of panic caught up to him.

With as much ferocity as he could muster, he gathered the angels most loyal to him, ordering them to block Heaven's gates, prevent Raphael from entering, force him to stay on earth where his Grace would slowly dwindle and die as Castiel's had done.

Castiel stood with them, defiant that this was just as worth dying for as fighting Lucifer had been. Except that it wasn't. He wasn't doing this for Dean, or for the world, he was doing this to protect himself, and before an hour had even passed on earth, Castiel banished the other angels from his side, sending them away until he alone stood to bar the last archangel from the Gates. If he was going to die, then he wasn't about to let others die for him first.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Sam leaned his head against the passenger side window as the Impala rumbled along the inner streets of a well populated suburb. The glass was warm where his skin touched it, the fall sunshine dappling the windows with shadows of leaves that had not yet fallen from the trees they passed. Dean sat straight-backed in the drivers seat, eyes trained directly ahead as they cruised through the town of their next job. He had never wanted to come, and Sam knew that, but after what had happened with Lisa, he'd really had no choice. The monsters of this world were stirring up more trouble than before in the wake of the Apocalypse- That-Never-Was and there had been too many casualties for either of them to just drop out this late in the game.

He'd stayed away for a whole year, and realized too late what a mistake that had been. All he'd wanted was to give Dean the chance to be something other than a Hunter, something other than Sam's older brother. And by doing so, he'd merely only widened the gap that had begun to grow between them ever since Ruby. It hadn't taken much to make Dean believe that it was really him, or that he'd been alive the whole time. But it had taken everything he'd had to finally get his brother to accompany him on the road once again. In many ways, it was all too similar to way their whole journey had begun, seven years ago beginning with Jess' death.

Only this time, Dean was the one looking only ahead, not letting his mind linger on Lisa or what had become of her, rather than Sam.

Sighing slightly, he gazed at the world outside once again, watching with glazed eyes as houses that all stood eerily identical on the side of the road flashed pass. Every once in awhile, they'd drive by a jogger, or a little old lady walking her dog, sometimes a group of school age children playing within the safe boundaries of yard and sidewalk. Dean didn't cast any of these a glance, and Sam wondered for a moment if they reminded him of what he'd left behind.

The younger Winchester bit the inside of his lip as they drove slowly past a playground, the motel they'd booked for the night coming into the view. The sun was beginning to sink behind the tallest buildings of the town, the shadows lengthening over slides and swings as they became abandoned, mothers tugging whining children away for dinner. Sam blinked as he noticed one small boy still sitting forlornly on the swings, small fingers wrapped tightly around the chains as the Impala passed him. It reminded him all too much of summer nights left alone with Dean when they were small, being told to stay put on the swings while his brother ran to the nearest convenience store to buy them something to eat. He turned his gaze away, stretching his arms out in front of him as Dean pulled up in front of the motel, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut as he went to get the keys to their room.

"What're we Hunting anyways?" he asked as he got back into the driver's seat, backing the Impala into a spot just outside room number 195.

Sam shrugged, tapping the top of the laptop case on his knees, "I'm not sure exactly. So far it looks like a bunch of practical jokes gone wrong, or something. One guy woke up to find that his wife simply _wouldn't_ wake up. She was in a coma or something and the man claimed they'd had a fight the night before because she found out he'd been cheating on her. She was snapped out of her coma when their _gardener_ showed up and kissed her." He took a breath, noticing Dean's eyebrow starting to raise, "And, uh, these two children wandered off after school and were missing for three days. When they were found in the woods a few miles away, they claimed to have discovered a house made of candy where an old lady tired to eat them for dinner and-"

"Isn't that that one story," Dean interjected at this point, "the one with the bread?"

"Hansel and Gretel, yeah," Sam said, pursing his lips in faint annoyance at being interrupted. "Anyways, a _third_ case claims that he was lured out of his home by a young girl, who tried to take him down the street. But he turned back when he noticed that she seemed hazy around the edges, flickering out of sight every once in awhile. And that even though it was the middle of the day there wasn't a single sound from his neighbors houses."

"Classic spiriting away experience," Dean said decisively, getting out of the vehicle once again to open up the door to their room. "That's kind of a varied mix there, Sam. What does it _look_ like we're dealing with?"

_A Trickster_. The unspoken words echoed between them, hollow with guilt. But Sam dared not be the one that voiced that idea. Sure, there were probably hundreds of other Tricksters in the world, but they'd only ever encountered one. And the regret of Gabriel's death still hung raw in the air as it had the first time they'd watched the Casa Erotica DVD over a year ago. "Umm . . ." Sam cleared his throat, "Well, since the events don't exactly seem a 'Just Desserts' sort of deal as much a random thing of chance, I'm going to say that the culprit is more likely a child."

Dean had already spread his stuff across one of the beds, taking out overly well cleaned guns and knives before he began to set about repeating the ever boredom-fixing task of cleaning them again. "Jesse?" he asked quietly, glancing up at Sam with questioning eyes as he spoke the name of the antichrist. Though they'd told Bobby to spread the word about keeping an eye out for the kid, they hadn't heard anything since he'd disappeared almost two years ago. Dean shook his head suddenly, "I don't know, man. It just doesn't seem right. Let's see what else we can dig up. Maybe it's just some low-class Trickster."

Sam inhaled sharply, flinching visibly at the word. Dean cast him a glance, before going back to his guns, as though he hadn't said anything at all. "It wasn't our fault," he whispered suddenly, the silence getting to him, combined with Sam's dejected puppy-look pointed in his direction. "He was the one that hung back and told us to go on ahead. There's nothing we could have done." He shrugged his shoulders, looking away as if that was the end of the matter. "Anyways, let's see if anyone has moved here just before these things started happening, look into anyone that has and see if they fit the Trickster bio."

"Yeah, I suppose," Sam muttered, flopping down on the opposite bed and opening his laptop. He'd rather they didn't take the job at all, as no one had been physically harmed. Rather traumatized, maybe, but never harmed. The faster they got the hell out of this town, the better, in his opinion.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Castiel slipped back into his human body as easily as water flowing down a drain. He had waited just inside Heaven's Gates for hours, becoming more and more restless the longer Raphael failed to show up, sensing the archangel's Grace shifting and moving about on Earth's surface. Surely, an angel denied Heaven for nearly two years would race back there as fast as possible. Though it seemed Raphael had other things on his mind, which made Castiel uneasy.

In the end, he had left, placing his most trusted follower and advisor, Aziraphale, in charge until he was able to return. _If_ he was able to return. But the fear that had coursed through him at the thought of Raphael wandering Earth in search of the Winchester's had all but forced him to come back to Earth. Even if he had promised himself to stay away, for Dean's sake, he couldn't stand by and watch the archangel slaughter them.

Jimmy Novak's empty body was right where he left it, suspended between space and time, ageless with no soul to retain the life inside it. Castiel wiggled his fingers experimentally, testing out different muscles he hadn't used in over a year. The trench coat and loose hanging blue tie were as familiar to him as his wings were, and he sighed in contentment, rolling his shoulders as he opened blue eyes to the world he hadn't seen from any perspective other than above for so long.

The feeling of Raphael's Grace pulsing with life across the land made him shudder, the sensation that much stronger now that they existed on the same plane. It washed over him in waves, distinct and clear as the rising sun in the distance, making him shudder with cold rather than the warmth and heat an Archangel's Grace should have contained.

Straining his senses outward, Castiel couldn't help but breath in deeply, though he had no need for air. The cool crisp sting around the air of Stull Cemetery in the late fall made his spine tingle, made him feel _alive_. He shouldn't have felt anything of the sort, the pure joy that coursed through him at the feel of the wind whipping up around the ends of his all too familiar trench coat, the fabric brushing against the back of his thighs. The utter _contentment_ he took in such a small familiarity made him feel sick, disgusted at his own weakness. But only for a moment, as another flare of Raphael's distant presence hit him, cold and ruthless. No, he was not the flawed one among his brethren. He was not the one prepared to slaughter the innocent just to get achieve his goal.

Breathing in again, he relished one last time in the sweet tang of the air that, of a cemetery as it was, should have reeked of death, especially after all that had happened here. But to Castiel, who's own blood had spilled here too, it rang with justice, victory, and free will.

He stretched his Grace around him, searching for the souls he recognized. One of the first things he'd done after his power had been returned to him was to alter the carvings in Dean's ribs just so, to allow himself to find him, and him alone. And if Raphael was not going to return to Heaven, he had no doubt in his mind that he'd go after the Winchesters. He hoped that he had not yet been able to locate them, and he exhaled a slow breath of relief when his Grace was able to prod at the presence of Dean's soul. The action sent a shiver down his frame. Even if the archangel had yet to lay a finger on them, Castiel could feel that the area Dean and Sam were in now overflowing with power, and his eyebrows creased in confusion.

Even for Raphael, the overflow of Grace seemed off. He was the fourth born, the youngest, and weakest, of the archangels. Castiel lifted his wings, invisible to the human eye, and where he'd stood on the outskirts of Stull Cemetery a moment before was nothing but displaced air and a few upset fallen leaves.

Castiel felt firm ground under the soles of his shoes in a matter of milliseconds, frowning as dying grass whipped up at his sudden appearance outside the Speight Motel. A dog barked nearby, locked inside its owners car, and the angel craned his neck to cast the animal a bored glance. To his other side, he could hear Dean pacing around in the motel room he and his brother were staying in, mumbling something that Castiel didn't bother to try and listen in on, remembering the number of times the elder Winchester had scolded him on "Eavesdropping."

Besides, Dean had refused to say, let alone think, his name in months. Castiel, though oblivious to many of humanity's mysteries, knew when someone just plain didn't want to see him. Leaning back against the grubby motel wall, he closed his eyes, searching for the presence of an archangel apparently too stupid to hide the light of his Grace. Castiel smirked to himself, folding his arms over his chest.

His eyes flickered open again, black lashes clouding sky blue, and he shifted, letting his gaze fall on the playground just down the road from where he stood. Strange, had Raphael rotted so long in his confines that he had really forgotten how to hide his presence? It seemed odd, even to an angel such as he. But then again, Raphael was the least familiar with humanity of all the archangels, though he was one of the most well accustomed to war. Castiel stood up straight once more, his hands falling to his pockets as he strode purposefully towards the park in question, casting a short glance over his shoulder towards Dean's Impala, parked safely a few feet away. He couldn't help but smile to himself at the sight. Wherever the Impala went, that was where home was for Dean and Sam, and for awhile, for Castiel as well.

Straightening his shoulders, his hands still shoved into his pockets, Castiel paced towards the abandoned playground, the swings still waving on their lonely path in the late autumn breeze. His fingers reached out to pause one in its movements, the metal chain cold against the tips of his fingers. It was here, there was something nearby that he _knew_ he should recognize. He could still sense Raphael, somewhere in this town, but this was not him. The Grace he felt, trickling along the tips of his fingers, residue from the angel that had touched the chain of the swing, was not cold. Instead, it made his own Grace flood with warmth. If he could describe it in human terms, he'd say it was like laughter, bubbling up from his contact, warm and familiar in a way Raphael never was.

His eyebrows furrowed, the angel unaware of the human expression he made without even thinking about it. He should know this presence, but he just couldn't place where he had felt it before, who he had felt it from.

He tensed as the ends of his trench coat were suddenly tugged, the fabric wrinkling under small hands. The angel turned his head over his shoulder, peering down into honey gold eyes alight with curiosity.

"Mister, do you have any candies?" the boy asked, blinking up at Castiel with stubby fingers dug deep into the bottom of the angel's tan trench coat.

"No," Castiel said bluntly, staring blankly at the child.

"Snap," he muttered, looking away. "Weirdos like you are sup'post to have candies." He frowned, lower lip sticking out at the angel in disappointment, as though it was all Castiel's fault.

Castiel blinked at the term "weirdo," before saying slowly, "You shouldn't take candy from strangers." He'd heard the phrase before, as Dean had repeated it often to both him and Sam as some sort of precautionary tale. And he always took Dean's words as truth.

"Yeah, I know," the little boy said stubbornly, "But candies is candies." He tilted his head to the side, watching Castiel with an unreadable expression, "What is your name, mister?"

"Castiel," the angel replied evenly, reaching down to pry the child's fingers off of his coat. "Where is your family?" a boy this small shouldn't be out alone at the trail ends of dusk, he couldn't have been more than four, maybe five years old. Castiel knew he still had much to learn about humanity, but recognizing when basic parenting had clearly gone wrong was simple.

The boy shrugged, and Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Dunno. I'm always . . ." He turned his gaze to the ground, before casting it over the playground equipment, the bright colors now streaked with quickly lengthening shadows. "Here . . . I'm always here . . ." He frowned, the change in expression causing his cheeks to crease, "Tastiel is a weird name."

Weird seemed to be the only verb this boy knew. "My name is Castiel," the angel corrected shortly, reaching down to thread his fingers through the child's slicked autumn-brown hair. "How long have you been here?"

"Forever," the boy whispered, staring straight up into Castiel's blue eyes with rapt attention. It was an exaggeration, Castiel assumed, as all children's explanations were. But the words rang eerily true all the same.

"What is your name?" Castiel asked softly, turning to crouch down in the sand in front of the child. The power he'd felt earlier radiated under his fingers from where they kept in contact with the boy, curled into his hair. Whoever this boy was, Grace pulsed from his form at the angel's slightest touch.

The child tugged at the edges of his coat again, pulling Castiel towards him until his lips were near the angel's ear, breath ghosting over his skin, "My name is-"

Castiel snaked an arm around the boy just before the streetlamp to his right exploded, electricity sparking up into the darkening sky, pieces of metal and Plexiglas raining down onto the concrete. The child shrieked in terror, gripping the lapels of the angel's coat tight in his small hands, candy-gold eyes closing in fright.

"What have we here?" a voice mused coolly, heavy, ill-disguised footsteps echoing in the wake of the snaps and pops of the destroyed streetlight. "A little angel, lost and alone."

Castiel snarled, tightening his arm around the child as he gazed up at Raphael. He would not let the archangel take this . . . Whoever he was, away from him. Not now. His presence was too familiar, too pure for Raphael to touch. The archangel narrowed his eyes at him, his vessel the same as the last time Castiel had seen him, calm and composed with that unchanged glint of fury in his cold stare. A look directed straight at him.

He wasn't looking at the child at all.

A brief wash of relief hit Castiel, and he loosened his grip on the boy, "What do you want with me, Raphael?" he said lowly. His brother had resided in his trap for far too long. If he'd bothered to focus on his surroundings more so than his intent on revenge, he would have immediately seen what the child was. Castiel could use his obliviousness to his advantage.

"Want with you?" Raphael sneered, the look as inhuman as he himself was. "There are so many, _many_ things I could do with you, Castiel. So many things I could do to make you suffer as I suffered. You were a fool. I said I would find you, and your human, and now I have."

The angel stiffened, forcing his eyes not to glance at the motel not far away. It was a lie. It had to be a lie. He would have sensed it if something had happened to Dean. "That does not change the fact that I was still able to outsmart you the first time, brother," Castiel said snidely, pushing the child behind him as Raphael's eyes changed from hidden aggression, to full out rage. This was going to get ugly fast, as Dean would say.

"You are no brother of _mine_," Raphael snapped, arm raising and arching to the side. Castiel staggered, a force hitting the side of his face, stinging like cold fire before he was flung bodily into the sand. The small boy screamed. "How _dare_ you compare your pathetic existence to me. Just because your Grace has been returned to you does not mean you are an angel! You are tainted with humanity's poison! You are flawed, full of useless emotions!" The dark skinned angel was suddenly upon him, nails digging into the skin around Castiel's neck. "You are so far fallen that not even Heaven can change that now, Castiel," he hissed, teeth bared in the lesser angel's face. Castiel didn't so much as flinch, blue eyes defiant and expressionless.

Raphael drew back a bit, watching the other's blood well up under his fingers. "I will relish in your slow demise, Castiel. First, I will strip you of your Grace once more. Then I will make you suffer until you are on the verge of death." He grinned, his mouth pulled tight into the expression, though there was no joy in it. Castiel flinched at the sight, his whole body shuddering. Raphael sneered, "And do you know what I will do to you then, fallen one?" Castiel inhaled, slowly, carefully. He didn't want to know. Why couldn't Raphael just kill him here and now? It wasn't as if he had never died before, he wasn't afraid of death, or the nothingness that came after. "I'm going to make you watch as I peel the skin from Dean Winchester's body, piece by piece," the archangel continued, "I'll make you watch him bleed and writhe beneath me, and you will be able to do nothing as I tear his soul into so many useless specks that it can never be restored. And then I will heal you, make it impossible for you to die so that you will live for eternity as you were meant to, with no hope of _ever_ saving that miserable Hunter from his pleasantly ceased existence."

Exhale. Castiel shrieked with rage, flailing in Raphael's much stronger, crueler grip. "No!" he yelled. Not Dean. Take him instead, that's always how it had been. His life, not Dean's. Not Dean. "You will not touch him!"

"There is nothing you can do to stop me," Raphael smirked, pinning Castiel's arms above his head, nails scraping along his exposed wrists. "You are _weak_, flawed as you are. You are _nothing_ compared to my glory. I am the eldest now, I am powerful. And there is nothing you can do to stop me."

"NO!"

The child, forgotten where he kneeled in the sand, frozen in terror, shrieked, the sound earsplitting and hoarse. Raphael cast him a glance, before turning his gaze back to Castiel with a cold smile. Sand flared up from where they had been not a moment before, the indentation remaining where Castiel had lay, blood flecking the grains before it shifted and vanished entirely.

And the boy screamed, hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut, hot tears streaking rapidly down his face. A window shattered down the street, quickly followed by another. And he screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

Part 1 Notes: I really liked going over all the things I thought made Castiel who he was by the end of S6, especially giving a reason for his asinine OOC-ess at the end of Swan Song. Also, I'm a fan of Baddie!Raphael giving poor Cass and Dean shit. I've always enjoyed fics that have his revenge.

Also, shame on you if you don't recognize the immense amounts of Gabriel references in this chapter. The _Speight_ Motel is obviously titled so after Richard Speight, Gabe's actor. And the room number is 195. AKA, episode 19 of season 5. The episode where Gabriel dies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: ****Open Pages**

**Author: **1_with_Russia (Kari Kurofai on )

**Recipient: **seraphim_grace**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel, implied Crowley/Bobby, suggested Gabriel/Sam**Rating: **T**Warnings: **Angst. Possible season 6 spoilers. Vague fairytale references, British demon gay-ness, and a relationship that could be seen as slightly pedo-ish. If you're a perv like that.**Spoilers: **All of S5, and the beginnings of S6 from what we've been lovingly spoiled with so far. :]**Word Count: **36,317 (Last I checked. And that's total)**Notes/Prompt(s): **_"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-"Except what, Geralt?""It has to be true love." _excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski**Summary: **_Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. _

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

**Open Pages**

**Part 2**

Dean felt it the moment Castiel's Grace reached out to touch his soul, and he folded his arms over his chest to repress a shiver. Immediately, his first instinct was to scan the room, waiting for the rush of displaced air and the faint sound of ruffled feathers. But after a few minutes without hide nor hair of the former renegade angel, the Hunter felt a sinking sensation of unease. Castiel wasn't one to make his presence known and then just fail to show, even if Dean had been pointedly refusing to call him ever since Sam had returned.

"Something's wrong," he said, mostly to himself. But Sam looked up from his perch on the edge of the other bed, fingers hesitating over the keys of his laptop all the same.

Sam tilted his head to the side, as if trying to find the source of Dean's sudden paranoia, a sight or a sound. After a moment he turned his viridian eyes to his brother, raising an eyebrow. "Dean?"

The eldest Winchester stood from where he'd been sitting, back against the headboard of the musty motel bed, gazing around the room, still half expecting Castiel to show up. "It's Cass," he said finally, moving to stand by the window and sweeping the curtains aside. "He's nearby, I can feel him. Where-"

"Dean, what are you talking about?" Sam asked slowly, like someone testing dangerous waters possible infested with man-eating sharks. "You're saying you can _feel_ Cass? That's . . . When did that start?"

Dean blinked, staring at his brother in poorly hidden confusion, "Huh? It's just like, instinct, Sam. It's the same as sensing when a ghost is working some mojo."

"No, it's not," Sam said evenly. "Can you sense all angels like that, or just Castiel? How do you know for sure that it's Cass?"

The thought sent a shudder down Dean's frame, "No, I'm sure it's Cass. Really sure." His fingers tapped against the glass of the window as he peered out into the growing darkness. "I _know_ it's Cass." Though why the angel had yet to show his face, Dean didn't have a clue. He'd always appeared just after Dean got that familiar shiver of Grace touching soul. He'd turn around and Castiel would be there, sitting on the edge of his bed or simply standing, waiting for Dean to speak. "Cass, you bastard, where are you?" Dean hissed, his muscles growing more and more tense the longer Castiel remained absent from his sight. _Where . . . Where? _Something was wrong, something was really wrong.

Outside, the sky lit up as a streetlight exploded, wires flying into the air and sparks hailing down onto the sidewalk side by side with shards of metal. Dean froze, staring at the scene for a split second before he bolted towards the door, hands finding the knob as he shoved his shoulder against the wood. "Cass!"

Sam was on his feet just as fast, laptop left to its own devices on the mattress as he rushed to Dean's side, eyes on the scene outside the window. But the door wouldn't budge, even as Sam threw his full weight against it beside his brother. Dean snarled in frustration, pounding his fists on the unmoving wood and gritting his teeth as they bounced off, repelled by an unseen force. _Cass, Cass, no! Let us out!_ "Cass!" he yelled, voice cracking, laced with fear. Yes, he was pissed that the angel had left without so much as a goodbye, pissed that he had left at all, really. And yes, he'd refused to so much as think about him for months on end. But Castiel was _family_, damn it. He'd done more for Dean than most people ever would, including dying for him a handful of times. He couldn't just let it _end _like this, no matter how mad he was at the angel. "Cass!" He yelled, his muscles contracting painfully as he tried to force the door open.

The door remained resolute, and Dean shifted his attention to the window instead, eyes widening as he caught sight of shadows moving under the flying sparks around the shattered streetlight. "Cass!" he yelled again, tearing off his coat and wrapping it around his hand, fully prepared to smash the window to pieces in order to get to the angel. Castiel was in trouble, he wouldn't use his Grace to seal the door if he wasn't afraid of Dean getting hurt. Sam hissed between his teeth, grapping Dean's hand and pushing him to the floor just before the window cracked of its own accord, glass flying inwards and burying itself in the opposite wall. His hands, one still covered by his jacket, went to his ears instead, his teeth clenching at the scream that rang off the walls and around in his eardrums, high pitched and angelic.

_Oh god, what was going on out there? _Sam stumbled to his feet, launching himself through the now pane-less window, hands clutched tight over his ears. But the moment his shoes hit the ground, the world went silent, save for the snapping of the still sparking wires dangling from the demolished street lamp, and the faint, far off drone of burglar alarms set off by more broken windows. The younger Winchester lowered his arms, staring towards the playground in confusion before bolting towards it, Dean hot on his heals. They skidded in the sand, Dean pushing the still gently swaying swings aside as he scanned the now vacant park. It was empty, and even the scream that had echoed across its expanse not moments before had vanished.

"Dean," Sam said suddenly, motioning towards his brother, the other standing frozen to the spot, "Look here." He waited until Dean shuffled over, turning his eyes to the ground where the sand was indented and disturbed, and where a blue tie lay innocently, half buried beneath grains that glistened crimson in the half-moon light.

Dean groaned, sinking to his knees, "Shit . . . Cass. It really was Cass. What the hell happened here?" His hands fisted into the sand, emerald eyes watching as it leaked between his fingers before he made a grab for the tie, snatching it up and tucking it into the pocket of his jacket. "Let's get the fuck out of here, Sam. Before the cops show up." He rose, brushing off his jeans without a second glance at the playground. There was nothing more to see.

Sam trailed after him, chin tucked against his collar bone as Dean made his way back the motel, steps hurried but faltering every so often. "What are we going to do?" he asked softly.

"Do?" Dean echoed, "Nothing." He held up a hand as Sam opened his mouth to counter that statement, "There's nothing we can do for Cass right now. For now, we call Bobby, and wait until something happens."

The younger Winchester bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowing together. That couldn't be all there was to it. Yes, there wasn't a single clue of what had happened there besides the tie, and what they had seen and heard themselves. But there had to be more to it, there always was. Watching Dean fall back onto one of the beds, hand going to the pocket the tie was wadded up in, Sam knew that for now, the best thing he could do was wait till morning and take a look at the situation once the sun rose.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dean chucked his cell phone across the room with as much force as he could muster, feeling dissatisfied as it didn't shatter against the wall as he had sincerely hoped it would. Sam's head appeared around the corner of the bathroom door, one eyebrow raised. "Uh, Dean? You having trouble getting a hold of Bobby?"

"Yes I'm having trouble getting a hold of Bobby!" Dean snapped, his head falling to his hands, his elbows digging into his knees. "This is ridiculous, I've tried _all_ of his numbers, including, and not limited to, the FBI, Health Control, and Animal Control. And I get either a busy signal or dead air for every one."

"That's unusual," Sam said, pulling his fingers through his hair as he sauntered out of the bathroom, heading for the door. "Did you try his regular number at all?" He cringed as Dean shot him a death glare that would have most certainly made anyone else pass out with fear, except that it was directed at Sam Winchester, who was by now used to such things. "Yeah, you're right, stupid question. Anyways, I'm gonna go take a look around the playground again, all right? Keep trying Bobby."

"Don't take too long," Dean snorted, getting up to retrieve his now very battered phone from across the room. He picked it up, only to stare at it for a long moment and let it drop to the floor again, waiting until he heard the door close before he too slumped to the dingy motel carpet, back against the wall. God, this was so fucked. If things had only gone a little differently during the Almost-Apocalypse, it wouldn't be like this. Sam and he would still be traveling, the same brotherly air between them. Castiel would be dropping in now and then, staying in touch even as his powers waned. Except it would never be that way again. Sam was too scarred from Hell, Dean was too flawed, period. And Castiel . . . Well Castiel had up and left without so much as a goodbye.

Sighing, letting his head drop back against the wall with a thud, Dean closed his eyes, wracking his brain. He _knew_ that Castiel had been in the vicinity the night before, in the playground to be exact if the evidence was anything to go by. And there had been the all too familiar ringing screech, shattering windows and making streetlights explode, indicating the presence of an angel. Although, that angel could have just been Castiel. It just seemed too simple, and Dean pushed his head into his hands one more with a frustrated hiss.

There weren't a lot of angels that could get the slip on Castiel, as Dean well knew. Plus, most on that very short list were long dead or MIA by now, if not all of them. He was so concentrated on his thoughts that he didn't notice the voice, calling his name insistently before deciding that Dean might respond to a repeat of "Hey wanker!"

And then a pleasant shout of, "Listen to me you bloody faggot!"

Dean's head jerked up and he stood quickly, spinning on the spot to try and find the source of the voice with the clear, very annoyed, English accent. His eyes fell on the television, blinking as it flickered and buzzed static, though it held no picture. "Who's there?" he asked the room at large, gaze still directed at the TV. This was eerily reminiscent of when Castiel had tried to contact him in Heaven. What was it with supernatural beings and their fetish for electronics?

"Bloody hell- no, he's finally paying attention but he's a right prat," the voice drew off, and Dean shuffled towards the television cautiously. It almost sounded as if the speaker was addressing someone Dean didn't have the privy to hear. Actually, he probably was, as the next words were, "Fine! I'll say it nicer, will you let up then? Thanks." Dean cleared his throat and could almost feel the attention of whatever was using his TV as a phone shift back to him. "Well well, Dean Winchester, finally taking a step into the land of the intelligent, are we? Ow! Stop hitting me!"

The Hunter raised an eyebrow, "Crowley?" he asked hesitantly. He hadn't heard a word about the demon since just before Sam had flung himself into the pit.

"Ingenious," Crowley muttered, and Dean could almost see the roll of the eyes he would have received. "Hey, ow, I'm not being mean, I'm being snarky. It's not like you're a complete stranger to sarcasm yourself." There he went, talking to someone Dean couldn't hear again. "Anyways . . . Where are you, Winchester?"

Dean opened his mouth to relay his location, ready to explain the case they suspected was there, but found that he couldn't recall. Was it Colorado? No . . . somewhere more towards the east coast, he thought. Massachusetts? That didn't seem right either. "Uhm . . . I don't know," he said finally. Every time he thought it was the right state, at the very least, his mind would drift to another one, with no clear indication to the right answer.

"You don't know," Crowley echoed. "Lovely. You've got some sort of seal around you, Winchester."

"Uh . . ." Dena started, confused.

There was a grunt from the television, and Crowley said loudly, "No, I can't just shift the speaker over to you, it's inside my head, you nincompoop. What? Direct contact with me can tune you in, I suppose . . . Ow! You don't have to smash my fingers like that! I can still feel pain, demon or not!"

"Dean," another voice came over the set suddenly, gruff and slightly annoyed. Dean snapped to attention, eyes widening.

"Bobby?"

"Yes, ya idjit," Bobby snorted, the faint whine of _"Ow ow ow ow ow!"_ resounding in the background. "Why don't you know where the fuck you are?"

Dean frowned, "I don't know, man, I did last night when we drove in. But now every time I try and think about it, my brain just goes all fuzzy." He shrugged his shoulders before turning a dark glare towards the TV, though he knew Bobby couldn't see it, "And hey, I've been trying to get a hold of you all morning! Where've _you_ been?"

Bobby made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, "You're in a closed space, boy. A seal keeping you in whatever town you're in. Phone signals aren't going to do squat outside of that little bubble."

The Hunter nodded, scratching his head and wishing faintly that Sam was here, so he wouldn't have to try and relay this information again later, cause hell if he understood it. "Uh, right. But then, how'd you know how to find me?"

"Remember how I put that tracking spell on you car?" Crowley chimed in at this point, sounding proud of himself. "It's not like I use it all the time, but I noticed immediately when its presence suddenly vanished from my mind. So we set up a communication charm using one of your smelly old socks you leave lying around this place, and voila, instant radio Crowley to Dean service!"

"And what, you expect me to believe you were _worried_ about me?" Dean drawled, raising an eyebrow, "Cause if so, I think I'm gonna be sick, thanks."

"Hardly," Crowley replied smoothly, "I just informed your father figure here of the situation, and he insisted we get chop-chopin down to business and find you wankers right away. Ow! That hurts you mangy Hunter!"

"The last time you boys disappeared off the map was when you were facein' down Michael and Lucifer," Bobby cut in at this point, "So yeah, we were worried. What's going on down there, boy?"

"I think Cass is in trouble," Dean whispered immediately, throat clenching around the words.

"The angel? I thought you hadn't seen him in over a year, Dean."

"I haven't," the younger man muttered, repressing the urge to mutter, _"Cause he's a jerk."_ Straightening up, still glaring at the TV, he said, "But I know he's in trouble, okay? There were exploding lights, and that high pitched noise. Bobby, you remember how it was when we first saw him. It was just like that, except ten times worse. There had to be more than one angel, man. It was just too wild."

"It was probably Raphael then," Crowley spoke up, and Dean's eyes widened. "Word's going around that he broke out of that nifty thing you had him trapped in."

"Demon word?" Dean growled.

"As if any other would be so well informed," Crowley said smugly.

"The Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel, huh?" Dean growled, rolling his eyes. "Great. The last archangel left alive and he's the one that has to find Cass. This is perfect, just perfect." His head fell to his hands once more with a frustrated noise. He was no match against an archangel, as he had proved with all of them but Raphael, and that had been pure dumb luck. "Fuck," he groaned

"You've got quite the potty mouth, Winchester," Crowley commented lightly. "Well, anyways, we're gonna head out and circle around the area where the signal was clearest last and try and find the edge of the seal. Sit tight and try not to do anything too stupid until we contact you again, comprende?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Dean grumbled. The television fizzed and his lips pursed as a thought suddenly occurred to him, "Hey, wait a sec. Bobby? Why the hell is _Crowley_ at your house?" There was no answer. "Bobby, I don't approve! Bobby!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Sam scuffed his shoes in the sand as he stared down at the spot where they'd found Castiel's bloodstained and dirtied tie the night before. The grains showed no sign of struggle anymore, as they'd shifted under the feet of the children that played there throughout the day, although, there seemed to be a strange lack of any at this point in time. Sam maneuvered his way past the swing set with the purpose of investigating the equipment for any other signs of trouble, but after a few minutes of looking at metal poles and worn plastic slides a little too closely, he had to say that they'd exhausted their few clues last night.

Blinking the focus back into his eyes, Sam leaned up against the monkey bars with a frown, gaze falling on the remains of the streetlight encircled with bright yellow caution tape, wires taped up and out of reach until the repairmen could get to them later. Whatever Castiel had gotten himself into, an angel had to be involved, more than one, possibly. No one got the jump on Cass like that, even when he'd been human for a short amount of time. Castiel was all instinct, the ideal soldier. He never faltered, not ever.

The Hunter straightened, preparing to head back to the motel and inform Dean that, sadly, there was nothing else to report about the scene of the crime. Meaning they had nothing to start with, no evidence, no leads, no nothing. Sam had the sinking feeling they didn't exactly have all the time in the world to look for some of those elsewhere.

A thunk sounded behind him, echoing like the tone of hands and knees in plastic tunnels. Sam turned, creeping around the side of the playground equipment towards the little tube underneath the right side. Crouching down, his hands resting on the knees of his jeans, Sam peered into the opening, the position making his back twinge uncomfortably.

Inside, a small child sat, legs pulled tight against his chest and his head pressed into the pocket in between sternum and thighs. He sniffed loudly, teeth clacking together, and shuddered bodily. Sam drew in a hesitant breath, watching the scene for half a second before he whispered, "Hey kid, are you all right?"

The boy's head snapped up with an audible sob, his eyes finding the man crouched at the mouth of the tube with a shocked intake of air. Sam blinked, leaning back slightly as he found himself staring into honey-golden eyes filled with tears, slightly mussed autumn brown hair falling over them. The recognition for Sam was instant, after all, these were features he'd spent months memorizing, training himself to pick them out in a crowd. "Oh god . . ." He exhaled, watching as the child tensed instantly.

Immediately at these words, the boy scuttled backwards down the tunnel's length until his feet hit the sand, turning to take off in the opposite direction. Sam scrambled to his feet on the other side, making his way towards the child as he continued to back away. "Wait, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," he pleaded, waving his hands in front of his chest in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner, "I just want to talk, that's all"

Turning on his heels, the boy made a beeline for the slide, using his hands to help him climb the stairs. Sam followed, positioning himself at the end of the structure, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The boy grabbed hold of the metal bars lining the edges of the slide, staring down at Sam with wide eyes without a word. The Hunter sighed, "Seriously, kid, can I just talk to you a sec?"

The child shook his head furiously, eyebrows furrowing together as tears continued to trickle down his cheeks. Sam held out a hand towards the bottom of the slide, "Well that's okay. Can I at least take you home to your mom then? I'm sure she's worried." Another headshake, and Sam rolled his eyes. "Why won't you let me help you?"

"Sam . . ." the Hunter gaped, watching the boy's lips quiver around the name, before he simply wasn't there any longer, the faint whoosh of displaced air and the almost unnoticeable scent of mountain wind being all that remained. Sam ran a hand through his hair, biting his bottom lip, the name he'd held back from saying before escaping the confines of his mind.

"Gabriel."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Castiel didn't have the strength to open his eyes. His wrists throbbed high above his head, and he flexed his fingers until they touched the chains attached to the cuffs holding him up. His ankles were similarly shackled, and he gave them an experimental flick before deciding that he wasn't getting out anytime soon. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the hum of the Enochian binding sigils carved into the metal.

"Have you already given in, Castiel? Too weak with your human emotions to go on?" a cold voice cut into his thoughts and rather peaceful silence in the midst of the pain coursing through his frame.

Cracking an eye open, Castiel groaned, catching sight of Raphael standing directly in front of him, arms folded over his chest and eyes narrowed with deadly intent. Really, he wasn't even sure why he'd bothered looking at all. "No, I have not given in," he replied dazedly, blinking the haze from his vision so that he could glare at his captor properly. "That's the thing about humanity, Raphael. They have the willpower to withstand _anything_."

Raphael scowled, "Rambling on about the free will of man will get you nowhere, Castiel." His hand went to his side, "Because even the most steadfast of humans aren't immune to pain and suffering. You should know that fact well, Castiel. After all, Dean Winchester himself, your Righteous Man, broke after thirty years. Let's see how long you last, shall we?" The lesser angel's teeth clenched as a small, silver angel-blade was withdrawn from his belt. Raphael extended his arm, watching with amused dark eyes as Castiel didn't even try and twist out of his bonds, ice-blue gaze fixed on the blade with unwavering determination.

The lesser angel kept his gaze on the metal even as it slid across his upper arm, blood welling up instantly from the spot. Raphael smirked, watching crimson roll down Castiel's arm and drip onto the lapels of his trench coat, quickly staining the fabric. "Are you going to remain silent, Castiel?" he asked softly, making an identical cut across the opposite arm, "What do I have to do to make you scream?" He raised the blade, using it's point to slice down front of the other's white shirt, cutting through the threads that held the buttons in place until Castiel's skin lay bared before him.

"What's this?" Raphael crooned, tracing a long healed white scar with the tip of the blade, going over the Enochian banishing spell that had been once carved fresh into white flesh. "An angel who still carries the remains of old wounds. Pathetic. How about I reopen them for you, hmm?"

Castiel's eyes widened as the metal made the first incision across his skin, and he hissed between his teeth. _No._

"_That's suicide!"_

"_Then if it is I won't have to stay and watch you fail. I'm sorry, Dean. I just don't have the same faith in you anymore that Sam does."_

"_What are you going to do with that?"_

These were the marks he'd carved into his own being with every intention of dying. The marks that had been completed with Dean's hands holding the box cutter when Castiel could no longer inflict the damage on himself. And now, as Raphael dug his blade into the scars of them, blood trickling out side by side with the silver-blue of his Grace, they might truly be the death of him in the end.

Part2 Notes: It was always weird to me (and cute, obviously) how Dean knew when Cass was around, whether he had appeared yet or not. He'd always turn before angel-boy even said anything. :] And guys, the whole Crowley Bobby scene was like, the highlight of my life since Point Of No Return in the moe area. Too funny. So of COURSE I had to add it in here. Gawd. I also love Dean being the disserving son with them. Lol.

And Gabriel . . . Child!Gabe was just too epic to resist, for me. So as soon as I read the prompt with the fairytale aspect, I thought of him being involved, somehow. Cass's scars from Point Of No Return were a must too, as well as the idea that I've always thought Dean helped him cut them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: ****Open Pages**

**Author: **1_with_Russia (Kari Kurofai on )

**Recipient: **seraphim_grace**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel, implied Crowley/Bobby, suggested Gabriel/Sam**Rating: **T**Warnings: **Angst. Possible season 6 spoilers. Vague fairytale references, British demon gay-ness, and a relationship that could be seen as slightly pedo-ish. If you're a perv like that.**Spoilers: **All of S5, and the beginnings of S6 from what we've been lovingly spoiled with so far. :]**Word Count: **36,317 (Last I checked. And that's total)**Notes/Prompt(s): **_"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-"Except what, Geralt?""It has to be true love." _excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski**Summary: **_Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. _

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

**Open Pages**

**Part 3**

Gabriel could barely recall his name, and he only knew a handful of certain facts about himself. One, he'd woken up in the playground, and had never left it. Two, he didn't need to eat or drink, though he did adore candy. Three, he wasn't very old, and he could count to twenty five and sing the ABCs, but that was about as much as he could do.

Four, he knew Sam's name.

He barely knew his own name. But when he saw Sam, staring at him through the small circular opening of the yellow plastic play-tube, he knew him. And he knew he'd done something unforgivable to him too although, if he tried to say the word "unforgivable," it never came out right.

Today, he sat on the swings, kicking his legs back and forth, but not actually swinging. Swinging was too hard if there was no one there to push him. After a few minutes of this he jumped off, flipping over onto his stomach across the seat of the swing and pushing with his legs, giggling madly as he rocketed into the air. Why anyone would want to swing normally while they were still short enough to get away with this was beyond him. Whooping loudly, he was glad for once that he had the whole playground to himself on late afternoons such as this. If he got loud when other people were around, he usually got some pretty nasty looks. And comments like, _"Where's your mother sweetie?" _

Swaying happily back and forth on the swing, his arms dangling down in front of him so that his fingers touched the sand, he noticed someone standing just on the edges of his vision. He scrambled to his feet, the swing still mostly tucked up against his chest and the chains clacking together.

The intruder on his playtime was not much older than him, wearing dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt that was strangely unstained, considering his age. He peered at Gabriel with half lidded blue eyes, hands folded behind his back.

Gabriel blinked, shoulders stiffening, the word _brother_ instantly coming to mind as he stared at the other child. The same word that had entered his thoughts the moment he'd seen the man in the trench coat, the reason he'd approached him in the first place. He'd learned his lesson with that. "Whatdaya want?"

The other child merely continued to gaze at him with his too blue eyes, the only movement being the rise and fall of his chest and stomach as he breathed. Gabriel glowered, letting himself fall back onto the swing with a rush of air, balancing in his toes. "If you don' want anything, go away," he muttered, trying his best to shoot what he assumed was a most terrifying death glare at the other. "I said go away!"

The child smiled, a slight upturn of the lips that was almost unnoticeable, and extended his hand towards Gabriel, his fingers curled upwards, beckoning him forward. Gabriel raised an eyebrow, frowning in response before wriggling off the swing and making his way towards the other boy. Reaching out, he grasped the boy's hand in his, nodding once. "Uh, we gonna go somewhere?"

Another smile, and the boy turned, tugging at Gabriel's hand insistently, his eyes alight. Gabriel followed, allowing himself to be pulled along even as the playground disappeared from sight behind him. He hoped he'd be able to find it again later. "What's your name?" he asked after they had gone a block or so.

No response. Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes, "Fine, you don' have to tell me I 'spose." He shrugged, gaze wandering to the houses they passed. They were always all so eerily similar to one another it gave him the creeps, and he quickly dropped his eyes towards the sidewalk again, taking in the sight of the other child's shoes shuffling along the pavement in front of. "Where are we goin'?"

Silence. Gabriel made a face and tried to pull his hand away from the other's with a frustrated whine, "Unless you tell me where we're goin' I can't go!"

The boy glanced over his shoulder at him, his smile turning into a disappointed frown, desperation crossing his face for a moment. Gabriel ceased his struggling, biting his lip, "J-just make it quick, kay? Cause-" he faltered, realizing he didn't really have a reason other than the fact that he was just plain scared. The boy nodded as though he understood, and Gabriel paled, tightening his grip on the child's hand before they began to move again, hands clasped tight together. Gabriel allowed himself to be dragged along, trying to keep his eyes only ahead without looking back.

The word _brother_ never left his mind as they walked, turning corners and crossing streets until they stood before an old, crumbling office building. There had to be few places as dingy as this in the small suburbia they were in, and Gabriel shuddered just looking at it. The other boy stared up at the structure with dark eyes, lips pursed. He tugged at Gabriel's hand and made his way towards the half ajar door that was hanging dangerously off its hinges. He paused before it, and Gabriel made as though to walk through the opening first until the other held him back.

Raising a small hand, the boy made a motion through the air across the doorway and taking half a step back. The air in front of them twisted, white hot electricity sparking across the space. Gabriel gaped, following the boy with in the motion of stepping away, swallowing hard. He would much rather run away than stand here, personally. But every time a thought like that would so much as cross his mind, the other child's hand would tighten around his reassuringly, pleadingly.

_Brother._

Beyond this door, somewhere in this old building, was something he needed to see, it was the only thing that explained the urgency in the other boy's eyes. Taking the steps two at a time they climbed the stairs to the third floor, scrambling over fallen and caved in ceilings and walls, avoiding loose, but long inactive wiring until they stood outside a closed door. Gabriel stiffened, shying away from it, "I don't want to go in there," he whispered, shaking his head.

The other merely smiled again, though the expression was blatantly false, meant to calm rather than express emotion. Gabriel shook his head again, eyes welling with frightened tears. There was something bad behind that door, something deadly, and he didn't want to see it. "No," he sobbed, "Please don't make me." He didn't want to see.

Narrowing his eyes, the boy pushed a small hand against the door, the thing swinging open on rusty hinges, though it did not make a sound. Gabriel inhaled sharply, a scream forming in his throat. The opening filled with light, blazing hot and piercing, the other child's hands moving to cover Gabriel's eyes for a brief moment before falling away once more, revealing the room to him.

A man was chained against the wall, his long tan trench coat shredded across his shoulders and sides. His white button up was open, sidelong gashes dripping fresh with crimson blood onto the floor. Beside him, a darker man stood, licking the edge of a large knife before he carved into the other man's flesh again. The first didn't move, and Gabriel finally let loose his scream. The sound echoed off the walls of the small room, and the dark man whirled towards the children, shock clear in his eyes. Gabriel wailed, trying to back peddle, but finding he could not move a single inch. The other child grasped hold of him, turning him so that their eyes met before he pushed his fingers over Gabriel's eyes once again.

"Help me," the boy whispered, his lips near Gabriel's ear, voice rough like sandpaper despite his apparent age. Gabriel whimpered, feeling the man with the dark eyes approaching, the sound of his footsteps bouncing through the room. "Please, you have to help me keep them safe" the boy hissed, voice desperate. "I can't watch over them anymore. It has to be your job now, please."

White-hot light pierced through his mind, and Gabriel stumbled, falling to his knees. His palms hit smooth sand, fingers sinking into it and he groaned in relief. The park. He was back at the park. Thank God. Letting his forehead rest on the cool grains, he slowly breathed in before letting out a low shaking breath that ended in a strangled sob.

"Castiel," the name slipped past his lips as tears leaked down his face, hitting the sand and leaving small dark spots in its shifting surface. Oh God. His little brother.

It was an accomplishment in itself to remember that much, and he dared not push his mind further back into the dark places the rest of his memories resided. He didn't want to know, not if every small memory brought him this much pain. No more, he was never leaving the playground again, nor was he ever going to let strangers talk to him. The consequences had so far been disastrous already.

A hand gently touched the small of his back, and Gabriel nearly jumped out of his skin, scrambling to his feet and making sand fly everywhere. Turning on his heels, he dashed towards the playground structure without a backwards glance, not caring who had touched him or why. Using his hands, he scaled the metal bars until he stood at the top of the slide, the point closest to the sky on the equipment, his own personal safe haven. Below him, the young man from the day before skidded across the sand, following him on ground level until he stood at the base of the slide once again.

Gabriel bared his teeth, his lower lip quivering as he wrapped his fingers tight around the bar above the slide's beginning, "Go way!" he screamed, trying his best not to break out into tears again. He didn't want anything to do with these people, he'd been just fine being on his own, missing memories or not.

Sam stared up at the child with desperate eyes, "Gabriel, please. Just give me two minutes to talk to you."

"You're a stranger," Gabriel muttered down at him, eyes narrowed.

The Hunter blinked, taking half a step back, "You . . . You don't remember? Are you _serious_? After everything you did to me, did to us, you don't remember?" His hands went to his hips, a classic bitch face crossing his features. "Great. Well look, kid, I'm going to need you to come down from there, or I'm going to have to come up there and get you. Either way, I can't just let you keep living in this park, it's not safe." _For an angel_, he said to himself. If any demons found this version of the archangel, this . . . Fledgling? He certainly wasn't a normal child. Well, it wouldn't be pretty, that was for sure.

"Don't wanna," Gabriel countered, gripping the bar even tighter as if to prove his point.

Sam shook his head, looking at the ground as he drew something out of his back pocket, holding it up and waving it back and forth, "Not even for this?"

Gabriel's eyes widened immensely, gazing at the offered Twix-bar with a contemplating look. "No," he said after a moment's consideration.

Rolling his eyes, Sam stuffed the candy back in his pocket, prepared to climb up the slide to get to the boy. No way was he letting him slip away again. Dean had said they were trapped in a closed space, and he bet ten to one that, just as it had bee the other three times it had happened to them, it was because of the archangel Gabriel. "Gabriel, please. I'm not going to hurt you, I swear to . . . Never mind. But I'm not going to hurt you. I'm trying to help you."

"_I'm trying to help you, Sam."_

The boy sobbed, shaking his head. "No." He didn't want help, he didn't _deserve_ help. Not from this man. But when Sam took a step back from the structure, holding out an offering hand as he knew he had never done for him, he couldn't help himself. Even if he couldn't remember why, he craved this person's forgiveness, and he clung to the bar, swinging himself down onto the cool plastic of the slide until his butt touched it. He hesitated there for a moment, watching as Sam's eyes widened expectantly, before he pushed himself down.

His feet had no chance to touch the ground before he was scooped up into strong arms, hugged close to Sam's chest, his head tucked under the other's chin. A sob escaped him, and he buried his face in the warm expanse of the other's clothes. Tucking him close, Sam began to walk, slow and careful steps back to the Speight Motel.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Dean was used to recognizing a dream the moment he stepped into it by now. He was seated on the edge of a dock jutting out over the surface of a sunset painted lake. A fishing pole rested against his palm and he tested its weight before looking out over the glistening waters. It was always too peaceful to be reality, which was what tipped him off._

_A flutter of air alerted him to anther presence in his subconscious, but he didn't turn to see who it was. He already knew._

_Shoulders stiffening, he closed his eyes, blocking out the fake world water-colored around him. "Cass," he breathed._

_A hand fell on his shoulder, and his muscles relaxed under the touch. "Dean," Castiel replied slowly, evenly, though there was an edge in his voice that made Dean shift in agitation. "It's been a long time."_

"_Yeah," Dean agreed instantly, twisting in his chair until he could look up into Castiel's blue eyes. His mouth fell open, and the lawn chair clattered as he pushed himself up from it, fingers flying to the sides of Castiel's face and down his neck and chest. "Oh . . . God. Cass, what-" The angel's body was covered with wounds, many still bleeding openly onto the wood of the dock, the steady drip making Dean shudder. _

_Castiel batted the concerned hands away with a frown, holding Dean's wrists so that the Hunter could not move to repeat the motion. "It is of little matter to you, Dean Winchester," he said lowly, warningly. He did not need the human's worry. Not now. "I need you to listen to me, Dean. Please."_

_Dean's eyes narrowed, his automatic response to the panic that fluttered in his heart. Castiel never asked for anything, never said please unless something bad was happening. He tried to tug his wrists free from the angel's grip, but Castiel, despite his injuries, maintained his iron strength, holding him in place. "Cass," Dean gasped, still struggling uselessly._

"_Dean," Castiel's voice was turning dangerous, commanding, and Dean instantly stilled in his grip. "I need you to listen closely. I . . ." He paused, training his gaze on the ground as though he could not meet Dean's eyes. "I can not protect you any longer."_

"_What are you-"_

"_You will not see me again, Dean," Castiel interrupted, watching with emotionless eyes as Dean swallowed. _

"_No-"_

_Castiel's lips turned up briefly, the slightest hint of a smile crossing his face, "Dean, there is nothing you can do."_

"_There's __**always **__something I can do!" Dean retorted without hesitation, trying to wiggle out of Castiel's unmoving grasp._

"_Not this time," the angel whispered. "Promise me you won't come looking for me, Dean. It's too dangerous." He leaned back as Dean lunged at him, letting go of the Hunter's wrists and allowing the other to back-step and put more space between them, but the gap existed for only a moment before Dean's hands found the lapels of his trench coat, grabbing him and pulling him close until they were nose to nose. "Dean," he warned._

"_Don't you dare," Dean hissed between his teeth. "Don't you __**dare **__go dying on me again. And if you do, so help me God, I will __**not **__just stand by and sit around with my thumbs up my butt and do nothing." He shook the angel, watching the faint shock flash across his face, "Even if you are the perfect little solider again, you're still part of the family, Cass. And in this family, we don't just watch as family dies." He lifted his hands away, staring at the blood coating his palms for a long moment before he spoke again. "You're family, Cass."_

_Castiel's eyes widened before he smiled, slow and completely genuine. The look made Dean's heart ache. "I'm glad you think of me as one of your family," he whispered. "But there are some things you can not change. Please, don't look for me. I need you to stay put and trust in the protection I've presented you with instead."_

"_Like hell I will," Dean snarled, reaching as if to grab the angel again but his hands clutched nothing but thin air. His heart stopped, breath catching in his throat, "Cass?"_

_No answer. Blood still stained the wood underneath his feet and the skin on his palms, his eyes going to the crimson spots as his breathing quickened._

_**No. No, no, no. Not like this.**_

"_Cass!"_

Dean jerked awake with a start, rolling out of bed and onto the floor with a huff as the air whooshed out of him. Writhing for a moment in the tangles of his sheets, he sat up, staring around the room with wild eyes. But the angel who had haunted his dreams was nowhere in sight. Inhaling deeply to get his breath back, he forced himself to stand, dragging himself to his feet and to the bathroom to wash his face. Maybe shower too, after a shitty dream like that. As if he didn't have enough on his plate, the team angel was trying to be a martyr.

Scrubbing a ratty motel washrag over his cheeks his head jerked up briefly as he heard the door click open and shut in succession. "Hey, Sam," he said instinctively, "How goes playground recon round three?"

No reply. Tensing immediately, he edged the bathroom door open a crack to peer into the main room, and dropped the washrag on the tile with a half startled, half annoyed sound.

Sam looked up quickly, tucking the tearstained child against his chest protectively as Dean flung the door open, staring at him with fire in his eyes. He opened his mouth, trying to find the words to explain, but Dean spoke first.

"What are you, a kidnapper? We don't have time to deal with little snot-nosed brats right now, Sam! Cass needs our help!"

The younger brother frowned, loosening his grip on the small boy in his arms, "He's not a kid, Dean," he said slowly, tilting his head towards the child to whisper something to him briefly, waiting for him to turn his attention towards the older of the grownups in the room. "Doesn't he look at all familiar to you?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. Good lord, if this was some kid Sam found with a mom who claimed the thing was Dean's, he was going to be pissed. "Not really, no," he said defiantly, eyes narrowing as viridian met gold. Strange eyes for a kid.

Sam made a face, bitch face number four to be exact, the one that meant, "You ignorant fool." The child squirmed, and Sam's gaze dropped to him for a moment before he spoke, reaching in his pocket and passing the boy a Twix-bar with a soft smile. "Well, I guess you weren't the one chasing after him for six whole months. Dean, this is Gabriel. Gabriel, say hi to my brother, okay?" Gabriel, one hand around the candy as he stuffed it into his mouth, waved with his free appendage. Dean paled, taking a step back into the bathroom, "Whoa, seriously? That's . . . So not cool. You brought him into our _room_? Dude, this guy killed me, like, a thousand times and you let the little squirt into our private space?"

"Dean, he doesn't remember any of that," Sam cut in, holding up a hand and glancing at Gabriel with an amused look as the boy finished off his candy and stared at the suddenly empty foil wrapper with a disappointed expression. "His mind's in about the same state as his body." He shrugged, standing up with Gabriel tucked against him again, making his way towards the bathroom, Dean sidestepping him on the way.

"What are you doing?"

"He's a mess, he's been living in a freakin' playground for over a year. I'm giving him a long overdo wash," Sam said curtly, leaving the door open a crack behind him. Dean groaned, collapsing onto the bed he'd only just gotten out of. This had to be their weirdest case yet. It just had to be.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Crowley tapped his fingers against the passenger side window of the car impatiently, staring out at the landscape flashing by them with a jaded expression. The scenery outside his window was very drab for the outskirts of North Carolina, and he scowled at it appropriately. "This is immensely boring," he commented lightly, casting a sideways glance at the driver.

In the opposite seat, Bobby didn't take his eyes away from the road, his face still etched with deep frown lines and his eyebrows creased with worry underneath his hat. Crowley rolled his eyes, turning his gaze back to the window again with an indignant huff. "They're going to be fine," he said quietly.

Bobby narrowed his eyes, but didn't look at him, "What makes you so sure? You don't know those boys like I do, how many times I've barely made it in time to save their asses, or the times I've been too late."

Crowley inhaled slowly, twisting in his seat so that he face the aging Hunter, pulling his feet up onto the seat and watching with mild amusement as Bobby glared at him when is shoes touched the leather. "I know you do. But you forget that Castiel is with them," he pointed out coolly.

"The angel's in trouble, at least that's what Dean said," Bobby retorted.

"And when has that ever stopped him from keeping those kids safe?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. "He took a bus cross country and cut off Pestilence's finger while he was human for them before. This isn't really any different. Not even death has ever stopped him from staying at their side."

Bobby frowned, eyeing the demon, "Then why did he leave in the first place?"

"Everyone makes mistakes. He thought everything was over, that Dean was safe. No one, not even an angel, is ever perfect, love," Crowley smiled, leaning back against the cool glass of the window. "You can't tell me you've never screwed up, I know you have. But there's always a way to fix it. Castiel? He's the kind who will find that way, no matter the odds."

"Biggest mistake was making a deal with the likes of _you_," Bobby growled.

Crowley smirked, sitting up a bit so that he could look the Hunter in the eye, despite the way the other seemed to be avoiding such contact. "Sometimes it seems that way, I know, but that doesn't mean you get to be a right prick about it. And besides," he reached over, resting his hand on top of Bobby's across the steering wheel, "You enjoy my company."

"I _tolerate_ your company," Bobby corrected evenly. But Crowley only continued to smile.

The demon tightened his grip over the Hunter's hand, shaking his head, "A big stick in the mud, that's what you are. Now, let's go find those muttonheads before they get themselves killed."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Somehow, despite how much I've already drained his Grace, he was able to create a double of himself and lead that child here," Raphael mused, arms folded over his vessel's chest. "He's stronger than he used to be, though he was human for so long."

A young woman leaned against the wall nearby, her head turned to the side so she could direct her gaze at the lesser angel shackled to the wall, blood dripping off his clothes and onto the tiled floor. It irked her immensely that they'd had to move locations, after all, she'd been the one who had to carry the damned angel there, god forbid Raphael should lift a finger on grunt work. "He was only mortal for a week or two," she pointed out evenly, rolling her eyes. Archangel or not, he still owed her. After all, she'd been the one who'd approached him, who'd sauntered up to the eternally burning Holy Fire and doused it, presenting him his freedom in return for his power. Power she needed in order to act out her revenge.

"That's half a year in Heaven," Raphael informed, but she continued to look unimpressed.

"Even so, his copy was hardly a threat, he was small, like a child. And the help he brought was no more than a child as well," she soothed.

"Then maybe we are both blind," Raphael growled. "No matter how fallen he is, Castiel has never been a fool. There's more to that child than meets the eye, I'm sure of it."

"Right, whatever," she snorted, moving to stand in front of the broken and bleeding angel chained to the wall. "What shall we do with him now?"

"Kill him," Raphael said instantaneously. "He's too much of a danger to us now."

Raising an eyebrow over demon black eyes, the woman muttered, "That wasn't part of the deal, angel. I need him alive, you know that."

"I do," he confirmed. "But it's not worth my life."

A laugh escaped her, dark and foreboding enough to make even an archangel wilt. "You're scared of the _Winchesters? _They're nothing, they're unused, broken vessels. Worthless."

"They've outsmarted me once, they could do it again," the archangel pointed out.

"They've outsmarted me a good handful of times. So what? That doesn't mean that this time I won't get the better of them." She raised a hand, cupping Castiel's chin between her thumb and fingers, twisting his head to face her, "With this in my grasp, Dean will crumble. And without Dean, there is no Sam. He's the key, you see, to paying back the due those Hunters are owed."

"You are quite conniving, Meg," Raphael remarked, withdrawing his knife from his belt buckle and tossing it to her.

She caught it by the blade, taking no notice of the blood as it sliced her palm before she turned it on the captured angel, drawing it across his cheek and watching as he inhaled between his teeth in pain. "That's because I'm a demon, archangel. We're born conniving."

Part 3 Notes: In case no one got that, the other boy was a tiny form of Cass, projected to Gabriel to try and make him help keep the boys safe. And I've always adored the one dream sequence Dean and Cass had together in s4, so I couldn't resist adding some of that in there. Plus, it worked well with the fairytale-vibe. For Crowley and Bobby's situation, I played off of what I'd already seen of the fourth ep of s6, and their whole angst-muffin-issues. :]


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: ****Open Pages**

**Author: **1_with_Russia (Kari Kurofai on )

**Recipient: **seraphim_grace**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel, implied Crowley/Bobby, suggested Gabriel/Sam**Rating: **T**Warnings: **Angst. Possible season 6 spoilers. Vague fairytale references, British demon gay-ness, and a relationship that could be seen as slightly pedo-ish. If you're a perv like that.**Spoilers: **All of S5, and the beginnings of S6 from what we've been lovingly spoiled with so far. :]**Word Count: **36,317 (Last I checked. And that's total)**Notes/Prompt(s): **_"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-"Except what, Geralt?""It has to be true love." _excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski**Summary: **_Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. _

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

**Open Pages**

**Part 4**

Dean lay facedown on the bed, wishing to God his life would stop being so damn weird all the time. But what had God ever done for them? He frowned into the pillow, reminding himself that it was only because of God that Castiel was even alive right now. Not that that fact would matter for much longer, the way things were going.

All the air whooshed out of him as something small, but unexpectedly heavy, landed hard on his back with a loud whoop. Somewhere above him, Sam shouted something that sounded faintly like a scolding, one that Dean knew, for once in his life, wasn't directed at him. Dean groaned at the little knees digging into his spine before he rolled over, grabbing the kid on the way. Placing Gabriel on his stomach instead, he stared up into the boy's round, honey-gold eyes. "So what are you, exactly?" he asked, glancing at Sam to let the other know the question was meant more for him than the child.

Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, but Sam scooped him up from his comfortable seat on Dean's abdomen before he could speak. "He's . . . A fledgling, I think," Sam whispered, setting the boy down on his lap as he took up root at his seat by the table once more. "He must have had enough power left, pagan god maybe, to hold a little of himself together."

"Magic," Gabriel chimed in, grinning from ear to ear in a smile that made Dean shudder. Even like this, the kid was the same as the angel who had once stood in his place.

"Right," Sam smiled, "Magic." He raised an eyebrow, glancing up at Dean, "Have you heard back from Bobby yet? If we're gonna find Cass we're going to need some help. I still can't get a phone signal. Or an internet one either." He reached behind him, grabbing his laptop off the dented kitchen table and turning it on. Gabriel clapped from his position in his lap, waving a hand towards the computer as the internet loaded a large FAILURE TO CONNECT sign.

"Dad," he said loudly, happily, and Sam blinked, paling slightly before he glanced around the room. "Dad!"

"Tell him to be quiet," Dean hissed, alarmed. He'd freaking piss his pants if God suddenly popped into the room right now. That was _not_ something his heart could handle. And, if God did show up at Gabriel's continued whine of "Dad, dad, dad," then he'd punch him. In the face. And then gank him with Ruby's knife. Also in the face.

What? It was just deserts after the shit they'd been put through.

Gabriel wriggled, reaching for the mouse pad on the laptop and slamming his fist down on it, hard. Immediately, a window popped up, and Sam nearly jumped out of his skin.

"SAM!" a voice screamed, high pitched and excited. Sam covered his ears with an immensely annoyed, scared look. Dean laughed, practically falling off the bed in his glee at the voice. There was no mistaking it.

"Becky," Sam said slowly, warily. The Skype had _definitely _not worked a moment ago. And why the hell, of all people, did it have to be Becky who got a hold of them at a time like this?

"We've been so worried!" Becky practically squealed, face right up against the screen. Sam leaned back appropriately, placing his hands over Gabriel's ears instead so the child wouldn't be brain damaged for eternity.

"_We?_" Dean echoed, standing up and moving to take up a chair beside his brother. Interactions with Becky were usually an interesting, if not disturbing, spectacle not to be missed. "Tell me you didn't find a way to clone yourself."

"I wish," Becky said thoughtfully, before turning full attention back to the screen, "but no. We, as in Chuck and I, of course."

"Chuck?" Sam said, eyes widening, "But, he's been missing ever since we put Lucifer back in the cage! We called the cops, searched his house, everything, and we couldn't find him. He's been with you this whole time?"

"Of course not," Becky frowned, "he can come and go as he likes. But that's _not_ the point. The point is, you guys are apparently in some deep angst."

"No, really?" Dean snorted, folding his arms over his chest impatiently.

Becky rolled her eyes, "Yes, really, smartass. And this is the point in the tale when I'm supposed to Skype you and give you a very vital piece of information." She crossed her arms, throwing some of her long blond hair back over her shoulder with a much too serious expression. "Dean," Her gaze sapped to him, and he flinched slightly under the intensity of the stare, "You have to remember the story of Sleeping Beauty. Do you remember it?"

Dean rolled his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. What the hell kind of helpful information was that? "Yeah, course I do," he muttered.

Immediately, Becky snapped back into her usual, overly peppy self, "Well, good. That's all I needed to tell you."

Sam grabbed the sides of the laptop screen with a frustrated noise, "What? That's it? That's all Chuck had to say? What the-"

"Chuck's part to play in the story is over," Becky whispered, looking away uncomfortably. "Done. Finished. Because that part of your story was over. But the rest of the pages are blank, left for you to fill in with your own willpower. That's the way the rest of the story of the Winchesters has to be told. It was Dean's greatest wish after all. No peace, no Hell, just more of the same written by the people rather than the power of a higher being."

A hand fell on Becky's shoulder, a long white sleeve with white button cuffs draped over it's wrist. "That's enough, Becky," a voice said softly, almost too quiet for Sam and Dean to hear. Gabriel stiffened on Sam's lap, fingers bunched into the end of his t-shirt.

"Sam," the voice murmured, and Sam leaned closer to the screen, blinking. "About Gabriel, you have to be strong for him, push aside your dark past with him. Otherwise you might as well put him back right where you found him. Fledglings are very easily hurt by the emotions and actions of others. Even if they're children, they're still angels, finely in tune with the inner workings of everything. If you still wish to hang on to him, be careful. One day he may just well grow out of the bind Lucifer put around the last of his Grace and return to how he used to be."

"Uh . . ." Sam stared blankly at the screen and then down at the unusually silent Gabriel crouched in his lap, looking up at him with tearing honey-gold eyes. "I'm not going to just leave him, Chuck."

"Good," Dean's jaw set into a firm line at the name Sam had used to address the speaker, though besides Becky's word they had little else to go on with the idea that this man was Chuck Shirley, his head and upper body still cut off by the angle of the webcam. "I think that you'll be able to find the right answer when the time comes. If not, the Winchester Gospel will end with more than one death."

Gabriel swallowed suddenly, loudly, in Sam's lap, small fingers twisting the already worried fabric of his shirt mercilessly. Dean growled, waving a hand towards the camera in annoyance, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You're the freakin' prophet around here and you don't even have a set ending to this chapter? Are you fucking kidding me?" Gabriel whimpered, and Sam curled an arm around him like a seatbelt, tight and safe.

"You'll understand soon," Becky sat oddly still as the hand left her shoulder, the faint sound of footsteps echoing over the connection before she turned back to them again. "Sleeping Beauty," she repeated, pointing at Dean accusingly, before the connection went out, leaving Sam staring at a blank screen, Gabriel having a miniature freak out on his lap, and Dean pacing the room with a hiss of frustration.

"Great, just great," he snapped, ignoring Gabriel's obvious flinch. "Now that we have such ridiculously helpful information, let's go get Cass. Oh, wait," he paused, glaring at the black screen of the laptop as though it was machines fault they were stuck in this situation, "We don't know where he is. Or who took him, if anyone did at all. So helpful." He threw his hands up in the air with a snarl, stomping towards the door and grabbing a jacket along the way.

"Where-" Sam started, but Dean shot him a look that could kill any demon, and Sam's mouth snapped shut as fast as it had opened, his arm tightening around Gabriel.

"I'm going out to think," Dean muttered, slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud that left the room eerily silent.

Gabriel sniffled, and Sam procured a lollipop from seemingly nowhere before he could start the waterworks, handing it to the fledgling absent mindedly. "Forget about him, he's a dick sometimes. A lot of the time," he amended after a moment's thought. Gabriel giggled appropriately. "If he's not back in an hour or two, we'll go look for him. Sound good?" Gabriel clapped his hands.

"Yes."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dean wandered around the twisting suburb streets, half hoping he'd get lost and thus have a viable reason not to go back to the Speight Motel anytime in the near future. But it wasn't very long at all until he found himself standing on the edge of the playground he'd just passed at least twice. Tilting his head to the side he tested the basic feeling of the air, breathing in slowly. The air felt different than the night he'd found Castiel's tie, half buried in the churned up, bloodstained sand. Before, he'd been sure that the spot was a center of power for whatever stupid-ass bubble they were caught in. but now the atmosphere there was as clear as that of the surrounding area.

Kicking a small mound of sand into the air, the Hunter let out a frustrated sigh, shoulders hunching. "This is ridiculous," he said through gritted teeth, kicking the place again a few more times until it lay flat beneath his foot. Stepping back he allowed himself to slump into the seat of a park bench, arms hanging off behind his head as he stared up at the sky. "Cass, you idiot. Don't you go dying on me yet. We'll find a way to get to you, with or without the help of that damned prophet and his crazy broad."

_He wasn't sure when he closed his eyes, Dean only knew that what he was seeing and doing wasn't reality. He was in the sheltered, familiar walls of the roadhouse, the achingly recognizable smell of brandy, well worn old wood, and cigarettes flooding his nostrils. The Hunter breathed it in without a second thought, his lungs filling with it before he exhaled, slow and content. _

_The pool table was in front off him, a cue in his right hand and one of those damned little squares you rubbed on the tip of it in the other. He was halfway through such a motion. Tossing the little white chalky thing aside he squared up, positioning his cue in front of the white ball lounging around conveniently on his side of the table. Placing the end between his two fingers on the opposite hand he took aim and shot, watching with mild satisfaction as it hit the three and seven balls, sending them flying across the green velvet, knocking the three into a pocketed hole in the corner across from him._

_Looking up his eyes fell upon his opponent, his throat constricting painfully. His long hair tied up in a ponytail on the top of his head to keep it out of the way, Ash took a shot, grinning from ear to ear as he bounced a ball off the rim of the table and into one of the sides holes in typical genius manner. "Can't win all the time, can you, Dean-o?" he smirked, twirling his cue around in his hand as he waited for Dean to take another shot._

_Dean took a long moment to stare at him, the action as unnoticed to Ash as the fact that this was far from reality. When he'd seen the man again in Heaven he'd taken the time to look then, too. Look at the perfect, unmarked skin free of the devastating burns that had killed him, the watch on his wrist still glistening silver and ticking the minutes away. "Oh yes I can," he retorted smoothly, slipping into the comfortable calm of his dream with ease. It was only here, after all, where he could forget the people he'd let die and pretend, if just for a moment, that his life was as he'd always wished it to be._

_Positioning himself for another shot, he took a swig of the beer sitting on the end of the table, knowing instinctively that it was his. Ash tapped his cue impatiently against the floor, but Dean took his time. Returning to the game, he hit the white ball towards one of it's cousins on the far side of the table, frowning as it barely nicked the side of it and came to a stop._

"_Too bad," Ash sing-songed, looking positively thrilled. "I'm going to win. Again." He took aim and sent the last ball flying across the expanse of green, knocking against the eight and rolling them both into the nearest pocket. Dean cursed, hands going to his hips as he glared down at the pool table as if it had done him great wrong._

"_No one wins against Ash, sweetie," Ellen called from behind the bar, a wet rag in her hand as she wiped away the last of the rings left on the counter from the moist glasses of guests. _

"_Not even me," another voice cut in, a pretty young blonde making her way around the table with a tray of used mugs and glasses in hand. "But one of these days he's going to be sorry, and then he'll have to give me back all the money he ever cheated me out of."_

_Speaking of, Dean muttered something under his breath and flicked a wadded up hundred at Ash, who made a very unmanly squeal at the sight of it. "Gotta make a living, baby," he cooed, waving a hand towards Jo as she began to walk away. A glare that could kill Lucifer himself was shot at his back, but he took no notice. Dean didn't doubt he was used to it by now. _

"_So you're in a rut, aren't you, Dean," Ash said suddenly, casting a glance at the Hunter before he pulled out a stack of cash from his pocket, slipping the newest addition courtesy of Dean into it's midst before licking his finger and begging a long count._

_Dean blinked, "Huh?" This was new. Dream advice, whoopee._

"_With Castiel," Ash went on, whispering a quick number to himself that Dean didn't catch. "You don't understand any of it, am I right?"_

"_For the most part," Dean agreed. "I just don't get why all this is happening now, of all times. We just got done with the Apocalypse-That-Failed a year ago, and now we have a possible archangel on our butts, Cass is in danger, and Gabriel's . . ." He paused, frowning. He wasn't really sure what the situation with the fledgling was, actually. "And hell, I still don't trust Sam completely. He left me alone for a goddamned year and then came back like nothing had happened, dragging me away from a life I'd only put up with because of him, and throwing me back into Hunting."_

_Ash smiled slightly, rolling up the wad of money and shoving it deep into the pocket of his ripped jeans. "It's just one of life's many little tests. Maybe you'll get through it all, maybe you won't. All I know is that you have to keep a level head and follow your instincts." _

_At this point, Joanna had made her way out of the back, sneaking up behind Ash with her hands raised to her chest, fingers like claws, ready to pounce. But Ash hardly twitched as she dug her nails into his back. "That fun?" Dean asked, deciding to dismiss Ash's slice of advice for the moment._

"_Exceedingly," Ash deadpanned, "Like all the forms of physical punishment Jo inflicts on me, this is the highlight of my day._

_Dean couldn't decide whether he was kidding or not, and decided he really didn't want to know. "You think . . . Do you think Cass is going to be okay?" he asked suddenly,_

_Ash stared at him for awhile before he spoke, shrugging and dislodging Jo's fingers from his spine. "I don't know, Dean. The future of the piece of the world trapped inside the closed space created around you and Sam is still very much up in the air." He stood, flicking some chalk from his pants with a half-frown. "I assume you can find your way back again just fine?" he moved to go take the rag from Ellen, Jo trailing lazily behind him, and began to wipe down the far end where the older woman couldn't quite reach." But there are some crucial things to remember. You've been given half the clue, so now it's time for you to get the other half. It's a little early, but I'm sure that won't matter much._

"_Clue?" Dean echoed, bemused._

"_Sleeping Beauty is half the key," Joanna piped up from where she'd moved to sit on the newly cleaned counter, Ellen glaring at her. But she ignored it. "And there was no way in hell you were going to take Chuck seriously. You've become even more wary than you used to be, I doubt you trust anyone anymore, do you," her voice became low and remorseful, and Dean didn't miss the way she almost looked right past him, as if seeing instead the Dean she had first met, steadfast and still headstrong._

"_Snow White," Ash murmured, speaking up suddenly as he hauled himself up onto the bar beside Jo, legs swinging through the empty air below. He smiled, cocking his head and giving Dean one of those cheeky, knowing looks that he really hated. "Good luck man, you're going to need it."_

Dean's eyes snapped open, his whole body shuddering from the rush of cold air as he breathed in sharply, startled out of his dream for some reason. He sat up on the park bench, gazing around himself with narrowed eyes, muscles tense. Someone was watching him, he could feel that sickly familiar tingle tickling its way up his spine, different from the way Castiel's gaze had always felt when he knew he was being watched over in his sleep. This presence was foreboding, making him suck in another, nervous breath before he turned.

Across the street a young woman stood, her long brown hair hanging loosely over one shoulder as she stared at him across a gap four cars wide. Even from that distance, Dean could see her smile, dark and knowing, white teeth glinting in the late afternoon light. He jumped to his feet, reaching for the small handgun attached to his belt and aiming just as a car passed in front of his vision, blocking the woman out for a split second before it sped past.

But it was too late, she'd vanished with the distraction of the vehicle, and Dean cursed, falling back onto the bench with a groan. Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, none of it made any sense. His life was so fucked, he decided with an exhausted laugh.

"You're rather disturbing when left alone, aren't you?" a voice said suddenly, Dean didn't bother to look up.

"You're just a little too late to see the action, Sam," the older Winchester smirked.

His green eyes finally turned to his brother after a few minutes of silence, taking in the sight of him standing there, one hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, the other wrapped around Gabriel's small one. "Let's go back to the motel I suppose," he conceded after a moment, standing once more, "think things over a bit and decide what to do from there."

Gabriel reached up towards him, free hand extended until Dean took hold of it, the Hunter rolling his eyes. Sam grinned and led the way, the young archangel in the middle with a Hunter on each side.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Crowley didn't want to poke the barrier with a twenty foot pole if he could help it. It encircled the entirety of a small town in Virginia, unseen to the naked eye, which meant, to him, it was perfectly visible. The cars that approached it would suddenly turn away, a glassy look coming into the eyes of the drivers as though they suddenly decided on a different rout, perhaps thinking that the trip into the suburb area of the East Collins district wasn't such a hot idea after all. Whatever it was, Crowley had nearly totaled Bobby's truck when they'd pulled up next to it, grabbing the wheel before the Hunter could do the same as the other innocent bystanders and simply turn away from the spot.

He didn't really have a choice in this situation though, and he carefully prodded the edge of the bubble with the tip of his finger, flinching back expectantly. But nothing happened. "Strange," he muttered, spreading his palms across the invisible surface with a concentrating frown. Slowly, he drew a series of sigils across it, making a fresh cut across his hand with one of Bobby's silver knives, the Hunter taking a step back to watch wordlessly. Finishing the last of the intricate designs he skipped backwards, grabbing Bobby and placing his hand across the crimson pentagram in the center of the array.

The Hunter sputtered and tried to pull away, but Crowley held him still, placing his own, blood streaked hand over the other's, muttering something too quiet to hear. Bobby's eyes widened, watching as Crowley's eyes shifted from their normal dark, almost black to bright yellow, pupils slit like a cats'.

"Holy-" he started, breath catching in his throat.

"Hardly," Crowley smirked, leaning towards the other and giving him a quick peck as the barrier cracked, the fracture clear to any eyes. Bobby frowned, stepping back to climb into the truck, driving it through the gap while the demon held it open. Crowley jumped into the passenger seat as he pulled through, watching the hole close back up instantly behind them. "Well, that's a bummer. It'll take more to break it from the inside."

"Sounds fantastic," Bobby growled, rolling his eyes. "Can you locate those idiots now that we're inside the closed space?"

Crowley sighed, admitting defeat to himself for the moment before closing his eyes and concentrating on the slight flicker of Sam and Dean's presence in the back of his mind. He opened his eyes again and pointed to the north, jerking towards the Hunter as he did so. "Shit! Watch out!"

A woman stood in the road, one hand raised in front of her as if she meant to stop the oncoming truck with the power of her mind alone. Bobby cussed loudly, hands tugging at the steering wheel that was suddenly immobile before his arms went to cover his face. Crowley yelled as the car impacted with the woman's hand, the grinding crunch of metal alerting him to the danger of their situation. For them.

The car flipped over the young woman's head, Crowley's gaze going from panicked to cold as yellow met pure demon black. She smiled up at him through the cracked windshield before they crashed to the ground, wheels spinning above their heads. Glass shattered, shards flying through the cabin of the car. Blood splattered across the clothed roof and Crowley yelled again, twisting in his seatbelt until he could hook his fingers beneath it, listening to the snap of thick material as he broke it away from his body with unnatural strength.

Beside him, Bobby had fallen to rest on the inside of the roof, cheek pressed against the shards of glass, blood leaking out as he groaned. Crowley crawled over to him, dismissing the glass digging into his own skin as he hooked his arms underneath the Hunter's, dragging him out into the open. The woman still stood where she'd been the entire time, gaze cold and uncaring. He snarled, laying Bobby down on the concrete before lunging at her.

There was no mistaking this demon. He could see the shape of her true self beneath the body of her captured host, the flow of familiarity that was the same as his brother Azazel's. "Meg," he hissed, hands closing over her skinny throat.

But she merely laughed, prying his fingers from her without a second thought, snapping the bones in them. Crowley paid it no heed, taking his blood-stained hand and making as if to mark her with his own blood, exercise her himself perhaps. But she jerked back, blowing him a kiss before disappearing.

Howling in anger, Crowley turned back to where he'd left the Hunter, crouching down beside him and pulling his head into his lap, wiping away a smear of blood from his cheek. "Sodding- this is idiotic. We shouldn't have come at all, these boys have gotten into deep shit I'm not sure even I can handle."

Bobby blinked up at him, shaking his head slowly, "You know why we had to. Now help me up, you fag. Or I'm going to get a terrible crick in my neck."

Part 4 Notes: For this one I brought in the first, brief, inside joke. Anime fans might recognize the "Sleeping Beauty" scene as being based on Haruhi Suzumiya. Anywho . . .

About Chuck. I PERSONALLY believe he's actually a Christ figure, as he's a prophet as well as the whole Lady Magdalene reference in Swan Song. But as the popular opinion is that he's God, I went with that. For now. I was also much too lazy to get into my own theories that day. Meh.

I adore Ash, I really do. I cried when he had that ep in s5, I love him so. And I love Jo too. And I secretly enjoy her relationship with Ash. I see them the same way I see Sam and Gabriel, the pulling on pigtails sort of deal. Take it as you will. The second Haruhui ref shows up here too with Ash's line of "Snow White." As well as the fact that Crowley refers to the barrier as a "Closed Space" is also a term from Haruhi.

And then there's Meg. Hate her guts, thought she should have played a bigger part in s5. I have no doubt that her and Raph will show up in 6 tho. Somehow. And I'm pretty sure I mentioned the name of the county they're in as being Collins. Lol. Misha, Misha!


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: ****Open Pages**

**Author: **1_with_Russia (Kari Kurofai on )

**Recipient: **seraphim_grace**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel, implied Crowley/Bobby, suggested Gabriel/Sam**Rating: **T**Warnings: **Angst. Possible season 6 spoilers. Vague fairytale references, British demon gay-ness, and a relationship that could be seen as slightly pedo-ish. If you're a perv like that.**Spoilers: **All of S5, and the beginnings of S6 from what we've been lovingly spoiled with so far. :]**Word Count: **36,317 (Last I checked. And that's total)**Notes/Prompt(s): **_"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-"Except what, Geralt?""It has to be true love." _excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski**Summary: **_Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. _

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

**Open Pages**

**Part 5**

"Raise your arms," Sam instructed, smiling as Gabriel threw his arms into the air with more enthusiasm than was needed. The Hunter laughed softly to himself, grabbing the hem of the fledgling's t-shirt and tugging it up over his head. Followed quickly by the pants before he picked him up and plopped him down in the empty tub, turning the water on. Gabriel squealed with delight, sitting as close to the spout as he could.

"Why do we gotta take a baff every night?" the child asked, splashing the warm water up at Sam.

"Because I don't want you to turn into Dean when he was younger, not taking a bath unless someone either bodily tossed him in, or hosed him down. And he _stunk_," Sam cringed at the memory, sticking a hand under the rush of water to test it's temperature. "Is it too hot?"

"Nope!" Gabriel smiled, splashing some of the water up into Sam's face. The Hunter sputtered and drew back, laughing quietly.

"You're still quite the trouble maker, aren't you?" he said, rolling his eyes. Gabriel merely grinned cheekily at him.

Sam sat back on his heels, rifling around in a nearby duffle bag for the shampoo and conditioner that he had had to convince Dean to carry with them. The motel samples just made his hair frizz, and even if his brother called him a girl for even saying such a thing, it was worth it. He dripped some over his hands, scrubbing them together before threading his finger through Gabriel's hair, rubbing it in.

That was the moment the fledgling screamed.

The Hunter jerked back instantly, thinking he'd hurt him somehow, but quickly saw that that was far from the case. Gabriel folded in on himself, small hands going to his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh as he wailed, honey-gold eyes flickering closed. Across his back, thin blue lines began to stretch from a place just between his shoulder blades, rapidly snaking down his skin towards the base of his spine, twisting and winding up and around. Sam wrapped an arm around him, dragging him out of the tub without bothering to shut off the water, the child flailing in his grip as a towel was wrapped around him.

"Dean!" he called, praying his brother was not oblivious to all the noise before he turned his attention back to Gabriel. The boy writhed in his grip like he was on fire, blood welling up from the places his nails dug into the skin. Sam caught hold of his hands, pulling them away and covering the new wounds with his palms, holding him still. Slowly, Gabriel's breathing began to even out, his whole body shaking uncontrollably even as Sam's hands steadied him.

The door clattered inwards, Dean standing in the opening with wide eyes. 'What the-"

"I don't know!" Sam snapped instinctively. "Just go get me some fresh towels and blankets, all right?" He waited until his brother had dashed off before standing, tucking the shivering fledgling against his chest. Making his way into the main section of their room he sat down on the edge of his bed, situating Gabriel across his knees so he could get a clear look at the pattern still pulsing across his back.

"Hold still," he whispered when Gabriel wiggled, the archangel whimpering in reply. Hesitantly, Sam drew the towel away from the boy's back, breath catching in his throat at what he saw.

Etched across Gabriel's back, starting between his shoulder blades, was a pair of wings, inked in shifting colors of blue and black. Gently, carefully, Sam touched it, sliding the pads of his fingers across intricate feathers he swore he could almost feel shifting under his hand. "What . . ." He couldn't even begin to comprehend what this was, certainly Castiel didn't have anything like this. But it was highly possible Gabriel had, the Gabriel he'd known before he'd stepped between Lucifer and the Winchesters, winking one last goodbye.

The motel door clicked open and Sam blinked up at Dean, standing there with his arms full of spare towels and blankets. The older took one look at Gabriel and paled, bringing the spoils of his raid at the front desk straight over. "What the hell is that?"

Sam shook his head in reply, taking a fresh towel and beginning to dry the fledgling off, still soaked from his bath he hadn't finished. "I don't know, Dean. I've never seen anything like it. And what the hell triggered it? They weren't there before."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he stalked into the bathroom, rooting through stuff as though he expected to find a clue, a hex bag or something. He came back empty handed a moment later, frowning. "What the fuck, man. Look, I'm gonna go out and try and get a signal on the phone. Bobby and that demon fag never contacted me again. I'm starting to get worried." He marched towards the door, hand on the handle before he added, "About Bobby," just to clarify. Sam couldn't help but smile.

Turning back to Gabriel he forced the boy to sit up on the mattress, taking in the full extent of the wings, the way the feathers seemed to twitch under his fingers though his eyes said differently. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

Gabriel sniffled, but shook his head, "Not 'nymore."

"That's good," Sam murmured.

"Kiss it better?" the fledgling asked, looking over his shoulder at Sam with tear filled eyes.

Sam blinked, "Uh . . . Yeah, sure." He leaned over, placing a brief kiss between the other's shoulder blades, forcing himself not to think about the fact that, even memory-less and in this form, this child was still Gabriel the archangel.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Crowley really hated human limitations. With a loathing passion, in fact. But not so much that he was going to leave Bobby behind, bleeding all over the pavement. Demon or not, he wasn't completely cold hearted, and any idiot could have seen he had a soft spot for the Hunter, unfortunately. He'd already gone above and beyond the typical crossroads demon call of duty when it came to him, especially the whole deal that gave him back his ability to walk.

It had cost him, to say the least, which was why he had to continue to stick around. Because of that nifty little addendum to the original contract, he'd found himself unable to return Bobby's soul to him in full, as promised. It was the reason he'd started to stick around the Hunter's adobe. It was not, however, the reason he had stayed.

"Good gods you're heavy," the demon hissed through is teeth, staggering a bit under the other's weight. Bobby's arm was slung over his shoulders, his head tucked down against his sternum and his breathing uneven, a thin trail of blood dripping from his half open mouth as they shuffled awkwardly down the street. "You better not sodding die on me, you old fart," he breathed, eyebrows furrowing in worry as Bobby stumbled, barely staying on his feet. "We have a contract, you hear? A _contract_. And if you break it I'll go into hell and drag you out myself just to make you fulfill it proper like."

"Shut up," Bobby coughed, a spat of crimson hitting the street, his gaze trained on the ground so he wouldn't have to meet those worried, demon yellow eyes. "You're too loud."

"It keeps you conscious, doesn't it!" Crowley snapped, bunching up his muscles to heave the Hunter fully to his feet once more. "Come on now, those fools can't be that far away. They'll have medical supplies that aren't all burned up in a fiery-lori-wreckage."

"Don't . . . Need any," Bobby ground out, wincing as Crowley pointedly jarred him. "Ouch. Hey, okay, you've made your point. Be a bit more gentle, would ya'?"

"Course, love," Crowley smiled teasingly, enjoying the weak eye roll he received in return.

A series of footsteps jarred him out of his actions, and the demon looked up to see a young man circling around the outside of a small playground, cell phone to his ear and a string of curses issuing from his mouth. Ah, cell phones. Yet another handy device that had gotten either smashed or burned to a crisp in their exciting run-in with Meg. "I see an idiot," Crowley proclaimed loudly, eyes shifting to Bobby briefly as the Hunter looked wearily up at the person pacing around on the sidewalk.

The passerby, surprisingly, responded to the remark and started, whirling on them with an astonished expression. "What the- You can do the teleport thingy like Cass, Crowley? I thought that was only for short distances."

"It is, moron," Crowley muttered, shifting Bobby's weight on his shoulders with a grunt. "And for your information, I can't do it at all inside this fuckin' closed space, which is why we're in this mess in the first place. Now will you help me or not, Dean-o!"

Dean gaped, moving to take Bobby's other arm over his shoulder, though the balance was off because of his difference in height with the demon. "What happened to you guys anyhow? You said you'd call or whaterver again and then you just show up like this?"

"We tried, nincompoop," he was starting to run out of synonyms for stupid. There were only so many words to describe his irritation towards Dean at the moment, after all. "And then when we finally found this place, we got our arses handed to us by your demon buddy-buddy." He sighed as Dean raised a confused eyebrow that clearly said something along the lines of, _"You're our demon buddy-buddy." _Clenching a hand into the back of Bobby's worn coat, he growled, "Meg. Don't tell me you've forgotten. As if she'd rear her fugly little head during the Almost-Apocalypse and just sit around after that."

Dean swore, nearly dropping Bobby who sagged dangerously in his grip for a moment. "Fuck, why can't anyone around here just die and stay dead?" He blinked as Crowley gave him a pointed look, "I mean, bad guy wise. I'm okay with most of that other shit. I think . . ." He paused, coming up to the door of their motel room, a reminder of the fledgling just inside that made him cringe.

"Yeah, bad shit should just stay dead. Or exorcised, or whatever the hell we do to them." Dean pulled out his key, shoving it roughly into the lock before he kicked the door open, not caring how Sam nearly jumped out of his skin and Gabriel screeched and toppled off the bed. Crowley cast them a curious look before taking Bobby from Dean's grip and hauling him onto the other bed, laying him flat on his back.

"First aide kit, if you would," he said snarkily as Dean just stood there, staring, and Sam bustled about trying to get Gabriel to calm down, the little angel having an absolute fit, pointing and screaming at Crowley. The demon raised his eyes to him for a second, raking his gaze down the tiny body with interest. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. "Take the candy-angel out of the room, would you? Blood is not a pretty sight for any child, and neither am I, for eyes like his."

Sam nodded, looking overly flustered and confused, but he carried Gabriel outside, shushing him softly as Crowley rolled up the sleeves of his already stained and dirtied suit. "Right then," he said, taking a knife from his pocket and slicing the blade through Bobby's sleeves and the material across his chest, baring skin to the ceiling so that he could get at the glass lodged in his flesh better, "tweezers."

Dean mutely handed him the tweezers, standing back as the demon began pulling out the fragments of glass, small and large, with diligent, steady hands. He couldn't' keep up the silence very long, however. It wasn't very Dean-Like. "Couldn't you just, I don't know, demon-mojo heal him?"

"I will in a moment," Crowley hissed, moving to the Hunter's arms and beginning the process over again there. "But it wouldn't' do to try and heal anything around a piece of glass, now would it." He placed a hand on Bobby's stomach, pushing him down when he arched up, a particularly jagged shard wrenched from his inner arm. "Hold still, we're almost done."

Bobby squirmed just to be ornery, and Crowley pinched him, making him scowl and narrow his eyes. "Bastard," he hissed between his teeth as the demon withdrew the last piece from his opposite arm.

"You love me anyways," Crowley replied calmly, leaning down to kiss him before moving his hands over the puncture wounds across his flesh, sealing them closed before the Hunter could bleed to death.

"Get. A. Room," Dean ground out, emphasizing each word with distaste.

Crowley raised an amused eyebrow, waving away Bobby's hands when the Hunter tried to push him off, apparently feeling much better. "How about you get a clue first, Dean-o."

'What the- what does that have to do with anything?" Dean yelled, standing as Bobby finally struggled out of Crowley's grip and sat up. "And dude, Bobby, lie down. You were bleeding all over the place just a second ago all the blood is just gonna rush to your head and-"

Appropriately, Bobby swayed on the spot, the demon at his side just barely managing to catch him before he toppled off the bed. "Whoa there, mortal-idiot. Can't you just sit still for a minute?"

Dean rolled his eyes, turning his back to them and crossing his arms over his chest. "Anyways, what the hell happened? I mean, we thought the source of the problem was Gabriel."

Crowley snorted, "This involves more than just one supernatural entity, kid. Gabriel, or whatever he is now, is definitely what's holding up this closed space. Why, I have no idea. But he wasn't the one that took Castiel, that I know for sure. I can smell the stink of archangel all over this place. And with Gabriel as he is, and the other two in the hurt locker downstairs, that only leaves us one option." He shrugged, yellow eyes flashing with annoyance at the thought. "And if I made a list of saucy-idiots who wanted revenge on your arses, Azazel's munchkin would be right there at the top along with that nutcase archangel."

Groaning, Dean flopped back onto the momentarily unused bed, covering his eyes with the palms of his hands, "What the hell is it with people and their _revenge_ ethics?" He caught the look Crowley shot him and sighed, "Right, point taken. Thank you Mr. Karma. Anyways . . ."

"Anyways, the point is that you have probably about twenty-four hours before those two lose their patience. And you know what will happen then?" Crowley frowned deeply, one arm supporting Bobby as the Hunter refused to lie back down completely. Dean swallowed. "If he isn't already dead by now, Castiel certainly will be by then."

"I won't let that happen," Dean said through gritted teeth.

"Which is why we need to act fast," Crowley replied smoothly. "Twenty-four hours, mon ami. Time to start cracking down on the mayhem of this town."

Dean's head fell back into his hands, "Oh god, please don't rhyme. Please, _please _don't rhyme."

"Oh, you're just jealous that I'm a poet and I didn't even know it," the demon crooned. Dean groaned and rolled over, grabbing his pillow and covering his ears.

Outside and down the street, Sam found himself at the playground once more, helping Gabriel climb onto one of the _"big kid" _swings, as he insisted on calling them. "Do you want me to push you?" he asked with a smile, pretending not to see the way Gabriel's eyes were still puffy and wet from crying.

"No," the child pouted, sitting down on the swing, hands wrapping tightly around the chains. For a long moment he sat there, a very determined, concentrated look on his face as though he expected the swing to just start moving on it's own. Sam was half surprised it didn't. " . . . Push me," he mumbled after a few minutes of this.

Sam tried not to laugh, moving around to the other side of the swings and grabbing hold of the chains above Gabriel's hands. "Ready?"

"Push really high!" Gabriel replied enthusiastically, small hands tightening around the swing links.

The Hunter nodded, dragging the swing and boy up over his head, delighting in his excited giggle, before letting go, sending him flying forward. Gabriel squealed in delight and Sam lifted a hand to push him again when he came swinging back his way. "You like to swing?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Gabriel whooped, "It's just like flying!"

Sam's hand paused against the boy's back before he pushed him forward again, a lump forming in his throat at the words. Even like this, trapped in a child's body without a single memory, Gabriel was still the same. Sam could see the yearning for the sky in his eyes as the swing bore him up towards it, the same look he'd seen in Castiel's eyes more than once during the short time he'd been human. "Everyone wishes they could fly," he said softly after a few seconds, hand falling to his side as Gabriel continued to swing back and forth.

Gabriel turned where he sat, a slight twist of his neck to look over his shoulder with confused eyes. But Sam didn't look up, his gaze trained on the sand and his shoulders hunched with an emotion the fledgling couldn't read. "Sammy? Push me," he said quietly, feeling a sudden pang in his chest at the sight.

The Hunter's head jerked up, viridian eyes widening. _Sammy_. Dean had refused to call him that since his return from Hell, the one sure sign of what had broken between them, so Gabriel couldn't have heard the nickname from anyone around him. That only meant that he'd retrieved it from the recesses of his mind. Smiling, Sam caught the chains below Gabriel's hands, drawing the swing up until it was level with his chest, "Yeah, of course. Wanna do an underdog?"

"Underdoggy!" Gabriel repeated loudly, honey-gold eyes lighting up. Sam laughed, taking a few steps back, swing still held against his upper body, before running forward, and ducking down, lifting Gabriel above his head as he dashed out under and ahead of the swing. The fledgling screeched in delight, rocketing up into the air.

That was when, to Sam's horror, he let go. The Hunter paled, running forward to catch Gabriel as he plummeted towards the ground. But his hands never touched him.

Gabriel's giggle turned to a wail of fear and pain, Sam practically dancing about under him as he fell, mouth opening in surprise as Gabriel doubled over in mid air, small hands clawing once again at his shoulders where the tops of the markings across his back peaked out above his coat. Black feathered wings ripped themselves from his shoulders, flecked with blood from where they'd broken through the skin, flaring upwards and out and bringing the child down into Sam's arms with a gentle flop.

"Oh . . ." Sam collapsed in the sand, legs tucked under him as he spread Gabriel out across his lap, the child sniveling pitifully as he lay on his stomach, face tucked into the folds of Sam's t-shirt. The Hunter's fingers automatically went to the dark feathers, combing through them to rid them of the traces of blood. "I, uh, don't think this is considered normal, Gabriel."

The fledgling sobbed, body shaking beneath Sam's touch and the human drew his hand away, picking him up and holding him close, one hand on his back to keep together the shredded remains of his clothes. "Let's get you back to the motel. I'm sure Crowley or Bobby will know what's going on, okay?"

"Kay," the child sniffed, shaking against Sam's shoulder as the Hunter hurried down the road, practically kicking the door down to room 195 of the Speight Hotel.

Dean was sprawled facedown across one bed, pillow held over his head. Crowley perched on the edge of the other, holding an icepack to Bobby's head with an oddly concerned look on his face. None looked up when Sam burst into the room.

"Guys, slight emergency here?" he pleaded, tangling his fingers into the base of Gabriel's wings, forcing them to spread open for all to see.

Dean sat up, blinking at the sight, Bobby looked much too out of it to have an opinion, and Crowley cast the spectacle a bored stare. "Bloody brilliant," the demon sighed after a moment's examination from a distance. "The barrier is breaking. The child is loosing control of his powers. My fault, I suspect, as Bobby and I made the first whole in the thing."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean asked, eyes narrowing.

Crowley waved a dismissive hand at Gabriel, who was starting to cry again, shivering in Sam's arms, "That. He's the one holding the town's closed space up, that's for sure. Unconsciously, I think he may be trying to keep Raphael and that demon botch trapped in here so they can't leave with Castiel like they may have planned. But because of us, Meg may have found the edge of the thing and is probably trying to pull it apart as we speak."

"Which is why Gabriel is having angel issues," Dean concluded. "He's trying to hold the barrier together, but doesn't have the power in this form to remain as he is now, concealed in this body. Isn't that a good thing?" he tilted his head to the side, deciding he disliked the way the little boy was clinging to his brother. "He'll turn back into his prissy-annoying-self then, won't he?"

"Or he'll explode," Crowley remarked in much to light a tone. Sam shuddered at the words. "A body that small isn't meant to hold in so much Grace, like that of an archangel. It's probably been smothered down in there, and if he's forced to use more power, it'll break out and obliterate his body."

Dean paled now, closing his eyes to try and block the image from his mind, the idea reminding him all too much of Stull Cemetery. "Yeah, on second thought, let's not have any of that." He shook his head, clearing the mental picture from his mind, "Worse news on top of all that, I'm guessing we have even less time to find Cass now than ever, right?"

"Unless you want scrambled fledgling for breakfast, yes, unfortunately," Crowley smiled. Sam made a face that said he clearly disapproved of the dark humor. The demon shot him a look, as though he could hear the insults probably being mentally hurled at him, "You, go wash that thing's wings off. And then find us a hand mirror, buy one if you have to, I don't care. Just be back here in forty-five minutes." He waved him away with a hand before turning to Dean, "And you. Go . . . Do something useful. Over there," he gestured to the corner, and Dean scowled in reply.

Sam returned forty-five minutes later on the dot, a small mirror in one hand, Gabriel perched in the crook of his other arm, wearing clean clothes with slits cut in the back for his wings. Though his smile had yet to return, candy-gold eyes trained on the floor as they entered the motel room.

"You wouldn't believe how may people bought the story of those being a Halloween costume, even when Gabe moved them," he snorted, shaking his coat off before sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Bobby.

"Well it is close to Halloween," Bobby said, looking up from the newspaper he had spread across his lap. He'd recovered a bit from his concussion, thanks to Crowley, though the demon refused to let him stand up for at least another half hour.

"Close is a few weeks before," Sam said, rolling his eyes, "Not almost two months before. It's September, for god's sake." He murmured a whispered apology at these words, Gabriel tensing up at the name of his father flung so carelessly about. Some angel habits died hard, it seemed.

Dean was pouting in the corner where Crowley had previously instructed him to be, and he stood when the demon motioned for him to come over, practically tripping over himself to get there. Bobby snorted and went back to his paper like nothing had happened. "Can I help now? Cass is my Ange- I mean, _friend_," he corrected, though Sam grinned at the slip of the tongue.

"Yes, you annoying prick, sit down," Bobby's bed was becoming more than a little crowded. Silently, Crowley took the mirror from Sam and tossed it unceremoniously to Dean, enjoying watching him scramble to catch it. "Now, can you explain to me once more why you were drawn to this town in the first place?"

Seeing the bemused look on Dean's face, Sam set about retelling the string of strange events that had led them here. From the woman in the coma, waken by a lover's kiss and the children going missing in the woods, to the man nearly spirited away by an unseen spirit. Crowley sat silent and still during the recount, blinking every now and then on what Sam guessed was more of a habit now rather than a necessity. Bobby's attention caught at the tale about the children, and briefly Crowley's hand covered his as he opened his mouth to interject an opinion, silencing him into a flustered stutter.

"Do you see the connection?" the demon asked when he was done, eyes falling on Gabriel.

"Well, the kid's obviously unintentionally causing it somehow," Dean huffed, folding his arms across his chest and giving the fledgling an accusing look.

Sam shielded Gabriel with his arms, "Hey, hey! Chuck said to be careful about how you act around him, remember? Don't be so condescending, Dean."

"He's correct, however," Crowley said, face unusually serious. "In the fact that what Gabriel's doing more accident than direct choice. That's clear in the way these tricks in particular appear compared to those he did in the past." He ignored the annoyed face Dean made at this, probably recalling being the bunt of many such a prank. "The victims were not the usual, deserving lot, were they now. Rather, they all came out fine without any serious bodily harm, and had no connection whatsoever. Besides the place they resided." he waved a hand in the air, "Which portrays Gabriel's current body. In the first case, we have a classic sleeping princess sort of deal. In the second, Hansel and Gretel, and the third, a spiriting away. Great movie by the way." The demon sighed as Sam and Dean stared at him blankly, and Bobby snorted in amusement, "None of you have any taste."

"Get on with it, we're wasting daylight here," Dean snapped, while Crowley feigned offense.

"How rude," he pouted. "Right, anyhow, Gabriel has no doubt heard many, many fairytales in his long life. I'd be surprised if he's forgotten them even in this form. They're part of his childlike essence, like his love for candy. Which means that much like the lovely TV-Land you boys told me about, this town is trapped in a story-book setting. One where the classic tales have as much reality here as they do on page."

Dean groaned, "Just as long as I don't turn into a frog, that's just peachy. Fairytales have happy endings, right?"

"Ever heard of the original Grimm's Fairytales?" Sam whispered. "Cause I'm sure Gabriel has."

The older Winchester muttered a curse and put his head in his hands. "Fuck, whatever. Just tell me what the stupid mirror is for so we can get this show on the road."

Crowley held up the seemingly simple object, taking it back from a frustrated Dean, waving it in Gabriel's direction, "Hey, little fledgling. You have nothing to be sacred of with me, all right?" He smirked when Gabriel blinked, clinging to Sam with all his might at the words. "I promise. Now, can you tell me what the evil queen does with her mirror in Snow White?"

_Snow White_. Dean breathed in sharply, covering his mouth with a hand to muffle the sound. But Sam glanced at him anyways, suspicion in his eyes. "The bad lady?" Gabriel asked quietly.

"Yes, exactly. The bad lady who gives Snow White the apple. Can you tell me what she used her special mirror for?" Crowley waved the thing around, light catching in it from the window and making a small square of gold dance across the floor at his feet.

"She saw Snow White in the forest," Gabriel said proudly, chest puffing out and wings flapping a bit as he spoke. Sam smiled, patting is head approvingly.

"Good, good. And can this mirror be used in the same way, do you think? Could we see where someone is by looking into it?"

"Yeah!" Gabriel made a grabbing motion for the mirror, but Crowley snatched it away and handed it back to Dean.

"Not yet, mon ami. Dean gets a turn first. Right, Dean-O?" Dean nodded mutely, staring at the thing in his hands with wide eyes. "I think you know what to do then. Don't let us interrupt you." He turned back to Gabriel, plastering a smile on his face, "After Dean gets a turn and finds out what he wants to know, I'll let you play with it too, okay?"

"Kay!"

Dean stared down into the glass, looking at his reflection for a long moment before he closed his eyes, focusing hard on what he wanted to see. Fuck, if he made a fool of himself for doing this, Crowley was going to get it. He needed to find out where those jerks were holding Castiel. He needed to know he was all right, that he wasn't dead yet. _Oh, god, please don't let him be dead._

"Show me Cass," he whispered to the mirror, taking no notice of the others' eyes on him. _Please let this work. Please, please, please let this work._ They were running out of time. If they didn't find the renegade angel soon, it would be too late.

The Hunter opened his eyes but to his utter surprise found that instead of looking down at his reflection on the surface of the glass, his hands were empty. He whipped his head up and around, turning on the spot. The dingy motel room he'd been in previously had vanished, the bed underneath him gone as well. Instead, he found himself gazing around an empty wheat field, painted gold and orange by the setting sun that hung oddly still in the sky just above the horizon. Dean inhaled, slow and breathily, trying to get a grip on his new surroundings. Was this the power of the mirror under Gabriel's influence? If so, he might already be too late if this is what it was showing him.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as a hand fell on his shoulder, a very unmanly noise he would never ever admit to escaping him. Dean didn't have to turn around to know who it was, the familiar feel of the hand making his spine tingle with power and Grace just like it always did. "Hey, Cass," he whispered, relief coursing through him. If he was dead, surely Dean wouldn't be able to see him anymore, even in his mind.

"You should not have come," Castiel's voice was unusually cold, and his grip on Dean's shoulder tightened before falling away entirely. "I told you to stay away, to leave me here. Why have you come?"

"Dude, don't fucking give me perfect soldier attitude, Cass!" Dean hissed through his teeth, turning and grabbing the cuffs of his trench coat. His heart clenched painfully in his chest at the sight before him, and he bit his lip until he tasted blood.

Castiel looked more bedraggled than usual, which Dean used to believe was impossible before he glimpsed the angel's humanity with his own eyes. His coat was ripped and torn in multiple places, blood oozing out from gashes both shallow and deep across his chest and arms, a few small ones decorating his cheeks and throat. His tie was absent, and Dean shoved a hand into his pocket instinctively, feeling the thin fabric stuffed inside it. "Oh, god, Cass," he whispered, fingers clenching into the sleeves of the battered trench coat.

"It is none of your concern," Castiel said quietly, looking away.

Dean grabbed the sides of his face, forcing their eyes to meet, "Yes, it is. How many times do I have to say it, Cass? This _is_ my business. _You're _my business, you idiot!"

"Dean-"

"No, shut up! For once in your life just shut up and let me say what I have to say for a minute!" Dean shook him, as gently as he could despite his anger, afraid that the angel might break under his hands already stained with Castiel's blood. "I care, okay? I fucking care! That's why I was so pissed when you left me alone. After everything, you left as if you had no place better to be! God, I'm such an idiot . . ." He moved his hands up to the collar of Castiel's coat, shaking his head and letting it drop onto the other's shoulder, breathing in the salty tang of fresh blood. "And now, because I was so stupid and let you just walk away, you're going to die. It's my fault. It's always my fault."

"Dean," Castiel started again, a hand rising to the top of Dean's head, shaking fingers threading through his short hair. "It was never your fault."

"Then show me how to save you! I need to make things right before it's too late, for once in my miserable life! I overlooked Sam once, and look how that turned out! Don't let me make the same mistake with you! Please!"

"You can't save everyone," Castiel murmured.

"No, but I can save you," Dean jerked his head up, ashamed to find his cheeks wet with more than just blood. God, he was such a girl sometimes. "And if I can't, I'll die trying. Please . . ." He let his head rest on Castiel's shoulder again, "Please . . . Show me how to save you."

Slowly, Castiel's hand fell from his hair and down to the back of his neck, guiding Dean's face up so that their eyes met again, "Very well," he whispered. "But I can not guarantee you'll make it in time." His gaze shifted sideways, and for the first time, Dean noticed the river winding its way through the wheat field they stood in, glittering silver in the setting sun.

"I will," Dean promised hoarsely, "Please Cass, believe in me. Have _faith_ in me. I'll find you in time." River be damned, Castiel wouldn't take even a single step closer to the stupid thing if he could help it. "Just wait for me. I'll be there." His shoulders shook with the words. Faith. Ha. That was the one thing Castiel had said he'd lost in Dean, almost a year and a half ago now.

"_I just don't have the same faith in you that your brother does."_

"Faith," Castiel echoed, and Dean shivered at the slight smile that crossed his face at the words. Oh, how far he'd fallen. Even now, he was more human than he'd ever been when they'd first met.

"_Forgive me. I will always have faith in you, Dean Winchester."_

The smile remained as Dean's forehead came in contact with the angel's, their noses just barely brushing. "I will always have faith in you, Dean Winchester," Castiel murmured, the breath from the repeated words fluttering across Dean's lips just a centimeter or two away. "Close your eyes."

Dean inhaled, trying not to think about how close they were, or how he really, weirdly, wanted to just close that small gap and- no. This was so not the time for thoughts like that. So instead, he closed his eyes obediently, fingers still tangled in the lapels of Castiel's coat. "All right."

Castiel's breath was hot against his lips, and Dean kept his eyes closed tight in an effort to not think about it. He inhaled as the first image pierced through his mind, sharp with pain but fuzzy in clarity.

_A warehouse on the outskirts of town. An upturned truck charred by fire near it's front. A woman standing near it's remains, gaze fixed on an indistinguishable point in the air just beyond it, her eyes demon black. Inside the warehouse, a loft, chains from old, worn down machinery hanging from the ceiling. A man standing beside some particularly low hanging links, arms folded over his chest as he gazed with disgust down at a crumpled bloody, tan colored mess sagging in it's bonds._

"Cass," he whispered, his eyes snapping open. But the world around him was blurred with grays and browns, rather than the glittering gold of the field he'd expected to return to. A hand rested on his shoulder, but it was not the angel's, he knew that for certain.

"Sammy," Dean said slowly, raising his head and looking up at his brother, leaning over him with Gabriel tucked against his chest and Bobby and Crowley on the other side of the bed. "I know where he is. I know how we can find him. We're going to save Cass."

Sam smiled, shaking his head so that his brother couldn't see the glint of moisture in his eyes. A hundred years in hell, and the long months that followed on earth, he'd been waiting to hear his brother call him that again. To trust and forgive him all over again., motions they went through many, many times throughout their lives. "Yeah, we'll get him back, safe and sound."

"And then I'll lock you two in a room so you can sort out your angst issues," Crowley piped up, "Just you, Castiel, and a nice bed with silken sheets. Lotsa fun."

"Can I kill him?" Dean hissed to his brother.

"I think he's kinda fun," Sam grinned.

"And so does Bobby, look at that sappy smile he's got on. Blech! Which is why his death must happen sooner rather than later."

"Play nice, Dean."

Part 5 Notes: The tattoo scene. Huh. Well, I always thought that Gabe was the sort to get one, and the idea of giant tattooed wings on his back has appeared in many of my favorite fics, like this one AU one I can NOT remember the name of at the mo. But to me, they'd be like a bind to keep his wings hidden while cut off from Heaven. And with Crowley poking at the barrier and unbalancing his power, it made his wings release. Idk. Gabe w/ wings = fun.

And the second Cass-Dream-Sequence, tho Dean is conscious, so it's not exactly a dream. I like how they angst fight, mostly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: ****Open Pages**

**Author: **1_with_Russia (Kari Kurofai on )

**Recipient: **seraphim_grace**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel, implied Crowley/Bobby, suggested Gabriel/Sam**Rating: **T**Warnings: **Angst. Possible season 6 spoilers. Vague fairytale references, British demon gay-ness, and a relationship that could be seen as slightly pedo-ish. If you're a perv like that.**Spoilers: **All of S5, and the beginnings of S6 from what we've been lovingly spoiled with so far. :]**Word Count: **36,317 (Last I checked. And that's total)**Notes/Prompt(s): **_"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-"Except what, Geralt?""It has to be true love." _excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski**Summary: **_Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. _

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

**Open Pages**

**Part 6**

Sam wondered what exactly Gabriel saw reflected in that mirror. While everyone else bustled about the motel room readying weapons and general supplies, the fledgling lay on his back across one of the beds, his dark wings spread out underneath him and his hands raised above his head, mirror clutched between them. His honey-gold eyes were glazed as he stared up at it, and Sam couldn't help but pause when he noticed the look, a hand falling to Gabriel's hair, fingers threading through it gently. "What did you want to see in that thing?" he asked softly, bending down to glance at the glass, as though he too might glimpse the same thing.

Gabriel barely twitched, his eyes traveling to the Hunter before falling back on the surface of the mirror suspended over his head. "Me," he said quietly, the admission making Sam's skin crawl uncomfortably, "I wanna see the real me."

The Hunter dropped down beside him on the mattress, snatching the mirror from Gabriel's hands and ignoring the frustrated noise the little angel emitted. "I don't think that's something this mirror can show you, or any other for that matter. That's something you're going to have to figure out for yourself. So . . . Don't ask it anymore, all right? This mirror can't show you every truth."

"Showed me you," Gabriel muttered defiantly, rolling over onto his stomach, wings folding comfortably against his back. It amazed Sam how fast he'd adapted to having them, but he supposed it made sense. They'd merely been restrained before, always a part of him even if he didn't realize it. "Me?" Sam echoed, "Why?"

"It showed you when I asked how I could find out who I was, since it was a meany and wouldn't show me itself," Gabriel shrugged, wings shifting along his spine.

"Me," Sam said again, feeling a bit repetitive. Especially since Gabriel raised and eyebrow at the remark, a familiar expression he'd seen too often on the other years ago. He laughed, shaking his head and standing up as Dean passed, tossing his younger sibling a handgun on the way. "Well, we'll figure it out later, all right, Gabe? For now I think it would be best if you stayed at the motel while we went out for a bit."

Immediately, Gabriel shot to his feet, bouncing on the mattress, wings flapping defiantly, "No way! I wanna fight too!"

"Who told you we were fighting? I never said that," Dean muttered, striding past again, glaring at Crowley as though it was the demon's fault the fledgling was so worked up.

"As if," Crowley frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and looking very put out by the silent accusation until Bobby walked by, digging his knuckles into the demon's head and making him whine in annoyance.

"The mirror showed me!" Gabriel exclaimed, bouncing up and down, the speed of which only increased as Crowley tossed him a candy bar, much to Sam's disproval. "I saw it in the mirror! I wanted to see where my brud'er was!"

"Your what?" Bobby said, looking up in confusion.

"My little Brud'er Tastiel!"

Dean blinked, pausing in his hurried act of shoving things into a duffle to glance at the others, "Wait, hold on, Cass? He does mean Cass, right?"

"Tastiel!"

Sam caught Gabriel as he jumped a bit too high, nearly hitting the ceiling with the lift his wings created doubled with the movement. "That's _Castiel_," he corrected with a smile. "Castiel. Is that who you're talking about?"

Gabriel nodded furiously, "Yeah, the funny guy with the coat and the eeeyyyeess . . ." He pointed to his own dramatically to emphasize this point, wings flapping as Sam held him in place, testing the air instinctively. "He's my little brud'er!"

"But he's taller than you," Sam pointed out with a teasing grin.

The other made a face, wings flapping in annoyance at this remark, "Hey yeah . . . How come?"

Sam snickered, deciding not to see if Gabriel even remotely recalled that he had _never_ been taller than Castiel. "You want to help save Cass, right?"

"Yeeess . . ." Gabriel drawled, folding his arms over his chest as Sam pulled him down into his lap. "Wanna save Tastiel."

Off to the side, Dean shook his head, sounding out the renegade angel's new name pronunciation. "Tastiel. Tast- tasty . . ." He blinked sheepishly when he caught Sam's eyes on him, whistling and pretending like nothing had happened.

"Anyways . . ." Sam said impatiently, "What do you think, Bobby? Is it worth the risk to bring Gabriel with us?"

"Little Trickster's gotta be your responsibility, boy," the older Hunter growled, pointing a finger at the innocent looking Gabriel, probably recalling the whining fight he'd had to listen to the first time they'd face him.

"Let's ask the demon his opinion," Crowley interrupted, "hey, gorgeous, all knowing demon who makes the entire room tremble in his presence, should we bring the squirt-archangel? Let me think . . . No." He shrugged, hands thrown into the air in exasperation.

Sam rolled his eyes, "I think he should come. You never know, he might be useful."

"He's a _kid_, Sam," Dean said in exasperation, swinging the duffle bag over his shoulder, "And by the way, that's exactly what you said right before we got stuck in TV Land. And I _so_ loved how that turned out."

"You weren't the one with herpes!"

Bobby held up his hands, stepping between them before things could get ugly, making Sam back up with a ticked off look. "You, stop raising your voice around the tyke. Didn't Chuck say to be careful with emotions around him?" He turned his glare to Dean, and the older brother stiffened, "And you. Stop taking out your fear and pain on everyone else, or when we get Cass back Crowley and I really will lock you in a room together! Good grief!" He whirled, taking up a sawed off left on the edge of the bed, storming out of the motel room with a huff.

Crowley grinned from ear to ear, practically skipping after him, "You heard him, buckos. So shape up and move out! We're wasting time arguing about who does what and all that gibberish."

"They really make me sick, you know," Dean scowled, stomping after them.

For a moment, Sam and Gabriel stood alone in the room, the small angel perched on the crook between the Hunter's elbow and arm, hands clenched into his coat. "Let's go, Gabe," Sam whispered.

"Uh-huh."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dean drove, as usual, god forbid anyone else should get their grubby hands on the wheel of his baby. The thought made him shudder. Although, what was usually a rather peaceful drive no matter the circumstances was now positively irritating. His car was stuffed full to the brim, and he really hated that. All the extra pounds weighing his poor baby down. Terrible.

Beside him Bobby sat in the passenger seat, elbow resting on the window as he stared out at the world as they passed it by. In the back, Crowley sat just behind the older Hunter, telling an animated looking story with many hand motions and exclamations to Gabriel, securely buckled in between the demon and Sam on his other side, the other Hunter listening with an amused look in his viridian eyes. That was one of the things that pissed Dean off the most at that moment, the light air that should not have existed in such a situation.

But, he had to relent that it made him glad to see Sam smile like that. He hadn't done it very much since he'd returned from Hell, and of all people, Dean understood that. He sighed, turning his gaze back to the road and trying not to let himself tense up. Castiel was going to be fine. They were going to get there in time, for sure. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if they didn't.

"Turn here," Crowley instructed suddenly, looking up from his tale to glance out the window. "We crashed the car over there, I believe," he said, motioning. Dean turned, and he frowned, eyes suddenly turning dangerous. "Slow down and park. We can't take the car any further if you want it back in one piece."

Dean, of course, obeyed, puling over an putting the Impala into park. "Right then, now what?"

Bobby leaned back in his seat, giving off a relaxed air that Dean knew to be false, his eyes subtly darting about the eerily empty road. "We go forward on foot. Everyone make sure you have something to protect yourself," he cast a look over his shoulder at Sam, "And enough hands to wield it, please."

They bustled out of the car, Dean choosing Ruby's knife and a handgun, slipping the later into the back of his belt. Sam opted for a sawed off like Bobby, as his knife (Ruby's, to be exact) was too dangerous to use with Gabriel clinging to him, the need for close combat involving the weapon too risky. Crowley fingered a cleaver in the trunk for a moment but discarded it in the end, wandering off to stand at Bobby's side expectantly. "We're so screwed," he said darkly, shoving his hands in his pockets and sending a glance Bobby's way.

"Any chance of making it out of this mess alive?" Bobby asked snidely, though his eyes were trained on the street ahead, none of his usual sarcasm in his gaze.

"Not much of one, if any," Crowley replied honestly, shrugging as though he didn't really care. "But that doesn't matter much. The most important thing is that we get Dean to that angel-boy. If we don't, things are going to go from really shitty to hellish in about ten seconds flat."

"Then we get Dean to Cass. Sounds like a plan," Bobby shouldered the sawed off with a sideways smirk. "And then afterwards, if we make it through in one piece, you'll give me back my soul?"

"Hmm . . ." Crowley put a finger to his lips, pretending to think about it. "Let me . . . Oh wait, nope. No can do, mon cheri." He smiled when Bobby made a face at him, "Oh, come on. You know that I can't. And besides, you'd lose the use of your legs even if I did. As, hello, it wasn't a part of the written deal to be exact." He waved the matter away with a hand, rocking on his heels as Dean approached them. "Let's get this party started, hmm?"

Dean grinned, turning the Ruby's knife in his hand as he spoke, "I thought you'd never ask."

Crowley nodded to him, motioning for the small group to follow as he and Bobby led the way down a small side alley and out onto a main road, perfectly abandoned and lifeless save for the still smoking wreckage of the truck. Bobby sighed, taking off his hat at the sight, "I don't know why I bring my favorite ones on hunts."

"We like to travel in style," Crowley replied, "Or, uh, did."

"Your sarcasm is much appreciated," Bobby grumbled, walking up towards the ruined vehicle and crouching down beside it, poking at the already broken glass windows with the end of his sawed off. "Anyways, I don't see that demon girl around. Maybe they moved again after we crashed. It wouldn't make much sense for them to stay here."

Sam shouldered his way between Dean and Crowley, standing off to the side of the charred hunk of metal, "Unless they wanted us to find them. Crowley, you said that Meg was here, right?" The demon nodded, "Well that's the key, isn't it? I get why Raphael would want revenge on Cass, but Meg? Not so much. If Meg is after anything, its going to be the ones who sent her to Hell again, not Cass."

"You always were the smart one," a voice spoke up, and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, turning rapidly on the spot until the knife in his hand was tip to throat with a young woman. Her hair was dark and streaked with crimson, her eyes of equal color, alight with black amusement. "That's why I always liked you more than your brother, Sam," she smirked, using a hand to throw some of her hair over her shoulder, "Intelligent ones are always a better lay."

Dean made a face, "Too much information, ew." He trained his eyes on her hands, noting her lack of weaponry in an effort to keep his gaze from the blood flecking her face and chest. Castiel's blood. Even from here, he knew it could be no others'. "So, Meg, what can we get for you this lovely evening?" The Hunter held out his right hand, "For dinner we have a nice round of stabbing and gunfire just for fun." His other hand followed, "And for dessert there's the follow up of a classic exorcism, holy water torture, and salt down the throat."

"Ha ha, I'm laughing so hard I might keel over," Meg snapped, "Not. Now, are you boys going to clear out, or are we going to have a little fun?" "I vote for fun," Crowley said, raising a hand. Dean seconded the motion by flipping the knife through the air, catching it by the hilt as it came back down with a murderous look.

"Very well," the demon whistled, hands behind her back. "Let's see what you've got."

Dean darted forward before Crowley could call out a warning, one hand going to the gun in his belt and the other holding the knife in front of him, aimed to stab at her heart. "Dean, stop!" Crowley yelled, jerking out of Bobby's grip as the Hunter grabbed his wrist, trying to make him stay put. But Dean, being Dean, charged ahead without a backwards glance.

Gabriel wailed, the sound telling Sam immediately that something was horribly wrong. Dean stumbled unexpectedly, looking confused at his slip for a split second before his face contorted in terror and he found himself laying on his back on the hard black tar, the air rushing out of his lungs in a huff. There was a snarl and a gash opened up across Dean's chest, shallow but jagged. The Hunter screamed, and Sam knew they were completely fucked then and there.

"Dean, you moron! Of course she's got hellhounds with her!" Crowley roared, pushing bobby behind him and snapping his fingers. Sam inhaled sharply as something brushed against his leg, invisible to his eyes though Gabriel cowered against him, shivering and hiding his face as though the creature was corporal. Beside him, something growled, low and dangerous, Sam shuddered as he felt hot breath hit his leg, the dull thud of air as a tail wagged through it reaching his ears.

"Oh my g-"

"Sick 'em, boy," Crowley smirked, waving his hand towards the demon and the invisible thing holding Dean to the pavement. The thing beside Sam surged forward, leaving the air distilled and broken around them as it left his side. Above Dean, blood splattered through the air, a sharp yip following it as the two hellhounds met. Dean rolled away, the weight lifted from him, and strugg*led to his feet. Knife still in hand he whirled on Meg, the howls and snarls of the hellhounds still much too close for comfort for him to do much else.

Gabriel quivered, clinging to Sam's leg until the Hunter lifted him up and tucked him against his chest, watching the proceedings with apprehension. Dean and Meg circled each other, the demon still weaponless, hands behind her back, Dean with the knife bared in front of him, making sure to keep a good distance between them. Crowley was slowly pacing forward, gaze trained on the hellhounds rolling around on the ground unseen, their barks and pained howls hanging in the otherwise silent air. Bobby stayed a good ten steps behind him, but also moved forward, sawed off cocked though he knew it would do little good, even with bullets dusted over with rock salt. "Gabe," Sam whispered softly, hoping the fledgling could hear him but not the enemy demon. "Gabe, are there any more Hellhounds?"

"Th-there are two more big scary doggies," Gabriel whimpered, hands tangling into the collar of Sam's coat.

"Can Crowley see them? Does he know they're there?" Gabriel nodded against him, and Sam shifted his fingers to the gun, cocking it at the ready. "Good. He'll take care of them then. He should know to leave Meg to me." He paused, tightening his arm around Gabriel, "Gabe, I need to put you down now, okay? Can you stay here and be brave for me? I can't put you in that kind of danger." Slowly he lowered the angel to the ground, looking away as Gabriel stared up at him with wide, betrayed looking eyes. "Please, Gabe. Just stay here."

Dean held his knife in front of him, ears straining for the sounds of other hellhounds nearby. He knew there had to be more than one, it just made sense for her to have some hidden up her sleeve. Crowley drew up beside him suddenly, and he flinched without meaning to, huffing out a laugh as the demon sent him an amused glance. "How are you today, Crowley? Its been awhile since I saw you, like, a minute ago."

"Fine, fine," Crowley replied smoothly, prodding Dean playfully in the chest, on the edge of the gash the hellhound had ripped him. Dean winced. "But I'm just about to head off to work, so we'll have to chat later. Can you tell the wife I said bye for me, please?" The Hunter's eyes widened and he cast a look over his shoulder at Bobby, the sawed off pointed directly at Meg's head. "Uh . . . Yeah, sure. Just . . ." He didn't know what to say, though he knew the demon's implications all too well. The dark truth hidden beneath a smile.

"You owe me one," Crowley smirked before turning back to face Meg, raising his hands and snapping his fingers again. Dean hissed between his teeth as he felt fur brush against his legs on either side, the sound of large paws pounding against the blacktop reaching his ears as they rushed past him. Meg sidestepped, dancing out of the way as the creatures were met in midair with equal of their kind, crimson beginning to stain the ground instantaneously. For a moment Crowley continued to stand there, dark eyes trained on Meg as she moved towards him. With one arm he pushed Dean back behind him before he moved.

Meg held up an arm in front of her face, blocking the older demon's first blow with ease. "Is that all you've got, uncle? I'm surprised. I remember you being one of Hell's most aspired. When did you change?"

Crowley ducked down, kneeing her in the gut and sending her flying back, "Hell is nothing to me, you sodding idiot. I don't care what they think and I don't follow orders. I do what I want."

Coughing, Meg sat up, wiping a spat of blood from the corner of her mouth with an annoyed growl. "Why? Just because you were one of the first, like my father? That means nothing in the end. These boys killed Lucifer, chained him for eternity all over again, and yet you stand at their side all the same. Helped them do the deed, even. My father was just like you, brother in blood, and he was the one that set the plan in motion. And you had to go and fuck with it." She stood, rage clear on her face. "Did you expect to be rewarded! Returned to Heaven? Because all you got was a human tied to you and the hate of all our kind on your heels!"

"Heaven? It was boring there too, more so even." He ignored the shock that flared across the faces of the Hunters, examining his nails as if he had nothing better to do. "And the rest of you were never my kind. Azazel, yes, possibly because we Fell together, fighting on the wrong side. But unlike him, I simply picked Luci's side because Heaven was dreadfully dull. Azazel chose it because he worshipped the clouds the Morningstar walked on. That's why your father and I are different."

"Why I'm the one who's still alive."

Meg snarled in fury, lunging at him with outstretched hands. "My father was twice the demon you are!" she screeched, eyes ablaze. Dean couldn't help but jump back, nearly colliding with Sam, who he found was no longer a ways away, but directly behind him. Sam put a finger to his lips and shushed him, motioning towards Crowley. The demon had managed to dislodge Meg from himself once more, and was standing over her with a distant stare.

"Why would you even remotely think I'd want to be anything like your pathetic excuse of a father? He was a perfect demon, and a corrupted angel, just like the one he followed with such loyalty. Anyone who _wants_ to be like that is sick in the head." He leaned down, meeting her demon dark eyes with his own fiery yellow, "The things I do are for my own pleasure. Like this," Crowley's eyes narrowed and he stomped a foot down on her hand from where she was sprawled out across the ground, hard.

She hissed in pain, but otherwise gave no reaction as her host's right hand was crushed beneath Crowley's dress shoes. Her gaze unbelievably darkened as she looked at the blood gushing out from where bones pierced skin, "You really shouldn't have done that."

"Crowley," Bobby's voice broke over the ruckus of the hellhounds fighting, cracked and breathless.

Crowley turned, digging his heel into Meg's hand as he did so. Bobby was still a good ten or twelve steps behind him, his gun held in front of his chest, except that now, his eyes were rigidly fixed on the ground. Across the blacktop, in the light of the quickly sinking sun, a shadow swept towards the Hunter at a rapid pace, blazing past Crowley until it hovered in front of him. "Shit!" Crowley cursed, digging his toe into Meg's bleeding hand before rushing towards Bobby.

Bobby aimed the sawed off at the seemingly empty air in front of him, firing once, twice. The Daeva screed, but the shadow did not budge. Crowley yelled something indistinguishable and panicked, before Bobby was slammed into the ground, blood gushing up from a hole in his chest. The shadow of the thing had a claw dug deep into the Hunter's own dark double, soundless and invisible in its destruction.

"Those fucking-" Dean started, clutching at his own gash across his sternum as he tried to get to the others, but Sam grabbed his arm and held him back, shouting something Dean didn't bother to listen to. These things, Daevas, had hurt his dad, nearly killed him when they'd finally been reunited when their journey first began. And he would not, _would not_, let them do the same to Bobby. This bitch was going to die here and now. For good.

Dean raised Ruby's knife, shaking himself out of Sam's grip and running at the demon still crouched on the blacktop with a roar of fury, ready to plunge the blade into her heart and end her. He screamed as something dug into his leg, sharp and white hot feet before he reached her.

Sam watched as his brother fell, deep teeth marks running down his left leg and flowing fresh with blood. On his other side, Crowley rushed forward, grabbing twin blades from the insides of his suit sleeves that glistened a metallic black in the dying sunlight. He thrust one in front of him at the shimmering space of air, smirking in satisfaction as the Daeva screeched, a black sludge-like substance staining the knife. Its blood, perhaps. Sam raised his own gun, pointing it at Meg. He should have ended this years ago, should have known what she was the moment he saw her. _Would_ have if he had never left the Hunting life for Stanford. He'd gotten rusty, and he'd gotten weak. And now they were paying for it all over again.

This time she wouldn't walk away with just an all expenses paid vacation to Hell. Been there, done that. Sam aimed, knowing it would take more than a simple gunshot to kill her, but it could definitely slow her until he could get over there and rip her throat out himself. He fired.

The gun flew from his hand in the same instant, the bullet pinging off the concrete just a few inches away from its intended target. "Now, now, now, Sammy. Play nice, why don't you. I thought we were friends." Meg smiled, and despite her mangled hand, managed to push herself to her feet without a hitch. Her eyes flickered briefly over to where Crowley grappled with his invisible opponent, and to Dean as he lay breathing heavily on the ground, face deathly pale and the sound of a hellhounds panting breath clear in his ears. "After all, I always play with your toys so nicely, don't I?"

The Hunter inhaled with fear at the next sound, a harsh, strangled cry that seemed almost inhuman. The last of the intact glass on the totaled truck cracked and shattered into microscopic sparkles, and Sam had to cover his ears, his head aching with the noise. _Gabriel. No, not Gabriel_. He turned, rage tattooed across his features, in time to see Gabriel being flung against the ground, rolling a dozen or so feet before coming to rest, eerily still. His wings were splayed out at an awkward angel, dark feathers littering the pavement around him and a streak of scarlet marking out a trail to the spot he'd stood only a moment before.

Sam rushed to his side, hesitating before gently touching his shoulder, shaking his head as the little fledgling didn't move. _No. No, no, no. Not Gabriel. Not again. Please, God, no._ Sam was supposed to look after him, watch over him, take care of him until he broke free of whatever was chaining him in this childlike body. Not this, never this. "Oh . . . God . . . Gabriel . . ." His shoulders hunched, the sound of his brothers ragged breathing, Bobby's yelling, Crowley's hissed attacks, all of it fading into the background. _No, no, no, no_. Not like this. Please, not like this.

"_I've been mopping these floors for around six years now."_

"_Sorry if I'm lagging behind today, boys. I had a long night last night. Lots of sex, if you know what I mean."_

"_This was never about Dean. It was always about you, Sam."_

"_Dean sacrificing himself for you, you sacrificing yourself for Dean, don't you see that its an endless cycle? Its never going to stop until one of you is man enough to just let go!"_

"_One brother is meant to kill the other, its your destiny!"_

"_Gabriel. They call me Gabriel."_

"_I didn't want to stick around and watch my family tear each other apart!" "Hey Luci! I'm hoooommee!"_

"_Damn right they're flawed. But a lot of them try to do better. To forgive."_

"_This is me standing up. And this is me . . . Lying down!"_

No. No, no, no. Sam lay his palms against Gabriel's back, his hands shaking as he drew them away to see them glistening with blood. His fingers clenched into fists and he leaned down, resting his forehead against one of the dark, mangled wings with a heaving sob. "Gabe . . . Gabriel." God, please help him. He needed a fucking _miracle_ now more than ever before. The sounds of his friends and family in pain were coming back into his consciousness over the roar of his blood pounding in his ears, and there was nothing he could do. And Gabriel was lying broken and lifeless on the ground. If there was any sort of god, anywhere at all, he would not let this happen. After all the Winchesters had done for humanity, after all Gabriel had given, what Crowley had sacrificed, what Bobby had suffered, it could not end this way.

Dean's breath came in short, pained gasps from where he lay on the ground, one arm supporting him and the other stretched down to staunch the steady flow of blood from his leg. He could feel the hellhound's hot breath on his neck, knew it was standing over him, heard the faint drip of saliva before it hit the ground. There had been four, not three like Crowley had thought. Four hellhounds with Meg, three with Crowley. Which left one brought in especially for Dean's own personal living nightmare.

He gave up hope that they were ever going to reach Castiel the moment Gabriel was flung aside like a rag doll, Sam kneeling beside him with wild, grief stricken eyes. Crowley had been right, they were completely screwed.

It was from a great distance that Dean saw it happen, and it took him longer than he would have liked to realize what was going on. Sam was falling apart at the seams, touching Gabriel's unmoving form with just the barest tips of his fingers, as though he feared the child would fall apart. He lay his palm against the boy's wings a heartbeat later, frame shaking, when Dean saw it.

A burst of light and sound, a low, long blare like the call of a trumpet, or perhaps a horn, resounding throughout the street. The light blazed white and pure, like what Dean expected the soul of a child to appear like, if souls were visible. The next time he blinked, both had faded and Sam sat on the pavement with something in his hands Dean had never seen before in his life, though he knew what it had to be almost instantly.

Sam sat, frozen in time for a long moment, all eyes turned to him, directed at him. Crowley screamed at that point, distracted for a second too long as the invisible fiend dug long, shadowed hooked claws into his back and arm. He crumpled, Bobby sliding forward to catch his fall before his head cracked against the pavement just in time. That was when Sam moved.

He stood, in his hands a long, silver-gold sword. Its hilt was more of a tawny-bronze, encrusted with gems the Hunter could not name. Across the blade itself was an inscription, Enochian. Dean recognized the language from what little Castiel had taught him. And though he couldn't read a word of it, he knew without a doubt what it said.

"_The messenger of God."_

On the blacktop, Gabriel stirred, wings lifting with a painfully wretched cry. Sam leaned down to him, gaze dark with relief and fury all rolled together as he scooped the little angel up into his arms, pushing him onto his shoulders with a muttered command Dean was much too far away to hear. Gabriel nodded mutely and buried his face in Sam's long hair, fingers disappearing into it as well. His wings hung at an awkward angle, dark feathers askew, but he held them as high as he could as Sam rushed forward with an almost warlike cry.

Meg didn't have a chance to move, her mouth open in shock as the sword plunged straight through her, blood gushing from the wound as Sam pulled the blade out just as fast, swinging it high and watching without a hint of emotion as her head rolled across the ground. Not even a demon could recover from something like that. Faintly, Dean wondered why they hadn't thought of it before. Behind her, Bobby covered his head with an arm as the Daeva hovering above him wailed, high pitched and furious, before its dark shadow vanished, leaving no trace of it behind.

Slowly, Sam let the sword fall from his grasp, the thing vanishing before it could hit the pavement in the same sort of light burst and fanfare it had arrived with. He stumbled towards Dean, the after effects of what he'd done seeming to hit him all at once before he collapsed at his brother's side on his hands and knees, chest heaving for breath he already had more than enough of. "She's gone," he hissed between his teeth. "She's gone."

"Yeah, Sammy, she is," Dean murmured. He rested a hand on his brother's shoulder, forcing him to look up and acknowledge the small archangel sitting across his shoulders, shaking like a leaf. "Hey, I gotta go help Bobby and the British demon. Check Goobriel there over, all right?" He waited until Sam nodded before wandering off, limping heavily.

Bobby didn't look up as Dean approached, his hands already stained crimson pressed against the demon's back. "So Sam can summon an archangel's sword, huh?" he muttered, gaze fixed on Crowley as the demon's breath hitched.

"That's what that thing was?" Dean said, bemused as he did his best to crouch down beside them, wincing as his leg gave an uncomfortable twinge. "How the hell-"

"Don't even start," Crowley hissed, trying his best to sit up, but Bobby held him down with a firm hand. "However Sam did it is of little use to you anyways," he went on, teeth knocking together as Bobby put more pressure on the wound. "An angel's sword can only be held by a human that angel has complete and total trust in, in can't even be manifested without such a bond."

"Uh-"

"Hey, hey, no talking," Crowley held up a hand, smirking as Bobby shot him a look clearly saying that the demon should be the one keeping his trap shut in a time like this, but the sarcastic smile turned to a grimace just as quickly with a sharp inhale that shot a spark of pain down to the punctures on his back. "The last known human to be able to wield an angel's sword was Joan of Arc, and at that time too, it was Gabriel's. That's because Gabe is an idiot who has always had a little too much faith in humanity, a boat which I am apparently now riding as well. But there's no way in hell you'd be able to replicate the action, I know you were wondering."

Dean's eyes narrowed in annoyance, "Then how the hell am I supposed to get to Cass? That stupid turtle-angel is going to be guarding him, I can't _kill_ an angel. I can banish one if I'm quick enough, but it'll come right back."

"Then that's what you'll have to do, now isn't it," Crowley winced at his own words, slumping down in Bobby's grip with a tired sigh. "Ugh, whatever makes the situation feel less shitty to you, prick, I really don't care. Just . . ." He waved a hand in the direction to street led, to a distant warehouse at the end of it, "Get going, would you?"

The demon's head rested against Bobby's chest with a dull _whump_, his body shaking almost unnoticeably, but trembling all the same. Dean bit his lip, wondering if those things Meg controlled had the ability to kill other demons. "Get your ass in gear, boy," Bobby growled, looking up from Crowley for a moment with a frustrated glance, "I'll stay here with him. Just get going before your angel-booy ends up an angel-slushy again."

"Dean," a hand fell onto his shoulder, "He's right. We gotta hurry." Sam.

The Hunter twitched under his grip, pushing himself to his feet with a groan, ignoring the sparks that flared down his bitten leg. "Is Gabriel okay?"

Sam frowned, looking down at the fledgling tucked against his chest, wings still oddly askew and feathers uncomfortably ruffled. His little mouth dripped with blood, and his hands and knees were covered in cuts and scrapes, but Dean had expected it to be a lot worse. "He's still able to heal, it seems," Sam said quietly, as if reading Dean's mind. "I don't know if angels can mend their wings in the same way, but his body should be all right in another ten or twenty minutes."

"Better hope so," Dean sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned towards the building not too far down the road. He didn't want to put too much faith in Sam being able to draw out Gabriel's sword again, but at the moment, it was all he had to go on.

He shook his head. So what. He didn't need Sam's help to save Castiel, it wasn't his brother's problem. It was his. And he'd promised the angel he'd get to him in time, even if he had to die trying.

Part 6 Notes: FIGHT! I'm so sorry, but I could NOT remember what those damn things Meg controlled in s1 were called. So I called them things, and then Strigas. But I knew that wasn't right, and I was home for that period when I wrote it, and thus, as my family is technology deficient, internet less. Hopefully I fixed all those parts, but if I missed one, forgive me.

The idea of the angel's swords comes from the fic I read called Omni Gladio Anticipate. Remember it. Read it. But I played with that idea mostly cause I always thought the blades they had in the show were pretty lame-o for angel weapons.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: ****Open Pages**

**Author: **1_with_Russia (Kari Kurofai on )

**Recipient: **seraphim_grace**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel, implied Crowley/Bobby, suggested Gabriel/Sam**Rating: **T**Warnings: **Angst. Possible season 6 spoilers. Vague fairytale references, British demon gay-ness, and a relationship that could be seen as slightly pedo-ish. If you're a perv like that.**Spoilers: **All of S5, and the beginnings of S6 from what we've been lovingly spoiled with so far. :]**Word Count: **36,317 (Last I checked. And that's total)**Notes/Prompt(s): **_"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-"Except what, Geralt?""It has to be true love." _excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski**Summary: **_Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. _

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

**Open Pages**

**Part 7**

Castiel did not bother to open his eyes anymore. He knew what he would see. Raphael leaning over him, eyes dark with revenge and skin and teeth stained with the lesser angel's blood. How very far he had fallen, to giving in to the pleasure of feeding off of another's Grace. It glistened on his teeth where he'd drunken it, mixed in with the crimson that had also flowed from his veins. It left Castiel twice as weak, with both the energy of his humanity and his immorality being drained from him.

Raphael would lick the edge of the blade still slick with blood and Grace and laugh coldly, the sound echoing through the abandoned warehouse, ten times as painful to Castiel's ears each time it bounced off the walls. He could hear it now, and without even looking knew what would happen next. For a moment he tried to struggle, remembering that Dean had promised he'd come, promised he'd save him. But the chains rubbed raw against his already bleeding wrists, cutting into his skin and making him whimper. Everything hurt. The more Grace Raphael took from him, the more his body ached with the cuts that zigzagged across his flesh.

He didn't beg for mercy, that was not what he had fought for for so long. He was not weak, he had free will, and he would die defiant if that was how it was to be.

"Why don't you cry for me, Castiel?" Raphael crooned, his voice sickly sweet, dripping with his overflow of Grace. "You are human enough to cry, yes? Let me see your tears then."

Castiel bit his lip, wearing away at the gash on the inside of his mouth he'd created days ago to keep himself sane. The archangel's knife tickled along his throat, teasing at wounds and gashes that had not yet had time to scab over completely, reopening them and letting blood splash across the metal. Castiel barely twitched.

"I want to see you cry. To beg for forgiveness for your sins, Castiel. For what you did to me. Or do you still believe that you were righteous in those actions?" Raphael skimmed the tip of the knife down the lesser angel's sternum, tracing down to the banishing sigil carved on his chest. He had not allowed this particular grievance to close for even a moment while he kept Castiel imprisoned, knowing it was the one that pained him the most, both physically and mentally. This was the mark Dean Winchester had helped create upon his flesh, hands shaking as he did so, looking into the faithless eyes of the angel who had once had all the world's faith in him. "He will not come, Castiel. He does not care as you believe him to."

"You think I really give a rat's ass if he cares?" Castiel muttered under his breath, startling the other angel with his voice. He had not spoken in hours. "I hope to god he's smart enough to stay away, despite what I told him." He shook his head, cracking open his ice-blue eyes with a snarl on his lips, "And even if he does come, you will not win."

"What makes you believe such a ridiculous notion? Oh wait," He rolled his eyes, the human expression looking darkly alien on his face, "Don't tell me. Is it because he has _Free Will_? You make me sick, Castiel. Free will is humanity's greatest _weakness_. Which makes you as feeble and useless as all of them."

Castiel grimaced, unconsciously leaning back as the blade was pressed to his throat again, "You are a fool then, Raphael. As I have told you time and again. Our Father did not create the world for angels, he created it for them, to shape and destroy as they pleased. What becomes of it, and of us, lies forever with them and no one else. Which only proves how far from weak they really are."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Cass. Though the 'Fate of the world lies with you' crap gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Raphael turned, a snarl forming on his lips as he caught sight of the Hunter standing in the doorway of the crumbling warehouse, arms folded across his chest as though he was staring down a boozed up punk at a bar rather than the archangel he was looking at. "So the cavalry has arrived. About time," Raphael shrugged, "I was worried I'd never get the chance to make Castiel watch as I ripped out your insides. But now the real party can finally begin."

"Sounds like a blast," Dean smirked, "When should we start?"

"Dean, no!" Castiel couldn't help the outcry, fear suddenly pulsing through him at the dark glint in the archangel's eyes. Before, Dean had been safe only on the principle of being Michael's chosen vessel. That was over and done with, there was nothing to hold Raphael back from slaughtering Dean outright. "No! Get out of here!" Oh, Father, why bring him back at all if this was what he'd have to witness. Dean was the Righteous Man, one of his Father's chosen. He had fought for what he'd believed in, and against all odds, succeeded. He'd lived through Hell's fires and back, watched those around him fall while he continued to stand, broken and flawed, but human all the same.

And Castiel had stood beside him. For that short blip in the endless thing that was time, Castiel had been there too. Watching him, saving him, staying awake and calming his mind when Dean tossed and turned through relived nightmares of Hell. He'd marked his own flesh, made scars across his skin to protect him, lost every last drop of his Grace for him, and died twice in order to keep him safe.

Always safe. It had never been part of the contract he made when he had flown Dean out of the depths of Hell. He was never to develop such an undying loyalty to the mortal as he had, never supposed to Fall. And as Raphael charged towards Dean, knife held in front of him without a second thought, Castiel knew, finally knew what he'd done.

He'd Fallen too far. And he screamed, a hoarse, guttural, anguished sound as he watched. Oh, Father, he'd _Fallen_. And now Dean was going to die because of it.

A shock of power laced through his being as he thought this, as he screamed the word _"No"_ over and over as Raphael surged towards the Hunter. Small hands rested against the shredded material of the trench coat just barely clinging to his body, and Castiel looked down with wide eyes.

"Gabriel," he whispered.

Gabriel smiled up at him, hands shaking and corporal wings laying at an odd angle against his back. Sam held him up, the Hunter's eyes glinting with determination as Gabriel's fingers moved over chains binding Castiel to the wall. Child or not, his power was barely held within his small frame, and the links snapped under his touch, allowing Castiel to slump to the ground with a surprised huff. "Go get 'em, little bru'der," Gabriel whispered, leaning back into Sam with an exhausted look.

Dean didn't budge as Raphael ran towards him, teeth bared and knife held aloft, ready to strike. Out of the corners of his eyes he watched as his brother and the fledgling worked to free Castiel from his binds, breathing a sigh of relief when the angel dropped to the ground. He'd done it. He'd saved Castiel. That was all he needed to see. Raising his gun in front of him eh prepared to fire, waiting for the archangel to get just a few steps closer. It wouldn't kill him, he'd probably barely even twitch. But Dean wasn't about to go down without a fight, even if it was a futile one.

Actually, most of his greatest victories had been futile in the beginning. He prayed this was one of those as well.

He fired, finger squeezing the trigger as the distance between himself and the angel closed rapidly, unable to keep his kill-on-sight instinct away any longer. Raphael paused, surprisingly, stopping for a moment to examine the hole in his chest. "That was a useless endeavor, vessel."

"Seeing as I never actually became Michael's vessel, that's sort of a rude term to use, isn't it?" Dean asked snidely, cocking the gun and preparing to give him a second round, just to show he meant business. He had to distract him from Cass, make sure there was enough time for the angel to escape with Gabriel and his brother. "I mean, that'd be like me calling you a dick-wad just based on the barest of facts."

Raphael snarled, low and guttural before he moved again, faster than Dean could keep track of. The Hunter cursed. He'd been a fool, not realizing that the archangel was holding back before, wanting to see the fear in his eyes as he died. Now, Dean could only blink and hope to God that when Raphael slowed enough to be visible to the human eye once again that it would be a rather quick death.

The archangel materialized in front of him, knife extended in hand as he arched down towards the Hunter's heart, a feral laugh forming in his throat. "This is how you were always meant to die, Dean Winchester!" he breathed.

Dean inhaled; taking what he knew must be his last breath and closing his eyes. He didn't want to see what would become of him, the anguish that would be on Sam's face just as it had been four years ago. But the pain never came.

Sam watched, frozen in horror as Dean opened his eyes, unfolding from his half-cringe with a disbelieving moan that quickly turned wild, rising and falling as the elder Winchester's gaze fell to the knife, protruding out of the middle of Castiel's chest.

"Cass! Oh, god, Cass!" Briefly, Dean wondered who was making that terrible noise, deep and animalistic and so very, very agonized. Except, as he spoke, he knew that it was him. This couldn't be happening. He was supposed to save Castiel, for once in his god damned life he was supposed to sacrifice himself for the angel. Not this again. "Cass! Cass, no!"

Raphael pulled his blade from the lesser angel's chest with a bored look, licking some of the blood off of its surface before he watched Castiel collapse onto the floor. "Unexpected, but I suppose that works too," he mused. "I would have preferred to make him watch you suffer." The archangel raised an eyebrow, a cold smile playing on his face, "But that sound you're making is oh so lovely all the same. Tell me, Dean Winchester, did you care for that useless fallen angel?"

Dean's head whipped up, green eyes dark and murderous. "You son of a bitch," he hissed, chest heaving for breath.

"Technically, my Father is genderless," Raphael smirked, taking another taste from the blood on the knife.

"You're going to pay," Dean growled, "I'm going to rip you into so many tiny pieces that not even your God could put you back together." His fingers clenched against his palms, blunt nails digging into the skin until blood dripped between his knuckles. "No one hurts Cass and gets away with it."

"I think I might," not an ounce of concern showed on Raphael's features.

"You touch a hair on his head again and-"

"I seriously doubt I'll have to," Raphael crooned, looking absolutely delighted as he licked more of the scarlet stains from his knife. "He's no threat now that he's dead, correct?"

Dean roared, lunging at the angel with nothing but his hands to use as a weapon. One wrapped around Raphael's throat, squeezing with enough pressure to break any mortal's spine. But the angel barely blinked, skimming his knife down Dean's exposed arm pointedly. The Hunter flexed his other hand, feeling its raw empty uselessness with a hollow laugh. So this was how it was all to end. He'd led them all to die, Castiel too.

_Cass_. Even when he said he hated him for leaving, despised him for his tactless farewell that came almost without warning, he had never meant it. When he'd still believed they'd all make it through the apocalypse in mostly one piece, he'd pictured the angel in his and Sam's future. Hunting with them, fighting with them, being the awkward duck that he was. Then Michael and Lucifer had just had to go and royally fuck his world up, taking Sam into the pit and leaving Castiel with little choice but to return to a Heaven that needed him.

Being alone had never been Dean's strong area of expertise.

And now Castiel was lying on the ground, a pool of blood spilling out under his still form. He wasn't in a million tiny pieces where Dean couldn't see him this time, not just a smear of crimson on summer wilted grass. He was there for all the world to see, the act of his last sacrifice for Dean staining the cracked floor.

"_We have been through much together, you and I."_

"_We had an appointment."_

"_I gave __**everything**__ for you, and this is what you give to me?"_

"_Forgive me, Dean, I will always have faith in you."_

"_What would you have rather had? Paradise, or Free Will. You chose this road, Dean, all on your own."_

He had chosen this path, and he was going to see it through to the bitter, bloody end. His fingers clenched against his palm once more, testing the air between the two parts of his hand. If Sam could do it, god help him, he could to. _Cass, Cass. Come on, buddy, I know you're not done yet. I need you to help me out here, this one last time. Cass, please. This will end it, I swear. This will make it all better, for both of us. I just need a little help._

Sam covered his eyes at the first hint of the blinding light that flashed through the abandoned warehouse, unsure of the cause or what he would see when he opened his eyes again. When he did, he was stunned to see Raphael standing a good ten feet back from where he'd been previously with Dean's hand latched onto his throat. A sword was held between his hands, glistening ivory and obsidian, bared at Dean like a fang. Across from him Dean stood with his legs splayed, leaning heavily away from his injured one with a similar blade balanced in hand. This one was gentler looking, however. If a sword of any kind could be called gentle at all. It was pure white, the metal of its point as well the color of newly fallen snow. It was made of no metal Sam could name, nothing of Earth could posses that much purity in a weapon of death.

"What about now, huh, Raphael?" Dean breathed, a slow smile flickering across his face. "Think you can weasel out of this situation now?"

Raphael's hands quivered around the hilt of his sword, "How-"

"A true angel protects and loves humanity above all else," Dean hissed, shoulders hunching in what Sam had long ago learned was his parallel to a lion ready to pounce. "That devotion is materialized in this blade, am I right professor? Don't look so shocked, this was how your demon lackey was killed after all." His fingers gripped the cloth twisted around the hilt as a cushion, the white of it becoming splotched with scarlet under his hands. "I'm glad to know the last words you hear will be mine, as I tear you into pieces like I promised. I wonder what exactly happens to angels when they die. I think its best if you find out for me, hmm?"

Raphael tensed, "That's the sword of a lesser angel, no match for mine! It'll snap like a twig!" His words did not match his tone, uncertainty clear in his eyes and voice.

"We'll see," Dean promised.

He was no swordsman, and he knew he never would be for that matter. But the sound of the two blades clashing together set something alight deep inside Dean. Primal and instinctive, raw power coursing down his frame from the spot where his skin met the hilt of the thing. And he knew that it was Castiel.

It was familiar and warm, cold and dangerous at the first touch, but devoted and fiery the longer he held onto it. That was the point where Dean knew he could win. Where Raphael's sword was stronger in build and Grace, Castiel's shone with what the archangel could never posses. The emotions of humanity. He parried off another blow, noticing the dull clang of Raphael's sword against the other, and how when he forced the archangel back a step with a blow of equal might, the white-hot metal of Castiel's blade practically rang. This was what humanity was made of.

The Fallen.

The faithless.

The broken.

The healed.

The loyal.

The believers.

The Free Will.

"This is for Cass, you bastard!" Dean howled, watching with satisfaction as Castiel's sword cut through the empty metal of Raphael's blade, piercing his heart. Light filled his vision, and he had the sense to close his eyes as Raphael screamed, his Grace rushing out of him in a burst of false radiance and sound.

When he opened his eyes again the archangel lay still, dark ashen imprints of wings etched onto the floor beneath him. A gaping hole was clear in his chest, but the thing that had caused it was absent, and Dean clenched his hand at the emptiness' that suddenly filled the place where the sword had been not a moment before.

He only wished he'd had the strength to kill the fucker the first time they'd met.

Slowly, Dean shuffled back to where Castiel lay, trench coat pooled around his prone form stained dark with blood, the ground slick with crimson as the Hunter kneeled down beside him. His hand found the wound, raw and bleeding in Castiel's chest as he rolled him over, running his fingers over the soulless blue eyes that stared up at him unseeing, closing them so he would not have to feel their accusing gaze. There were so many "If onlys" running through his head it made him want to gag. If only he'd been faster. If only he'd never pretended not to care. If only he hadn't let Castiel get so damn _close_ to him. If only he had never convinced the angel that free will was worth fighting for no matter the ends.

"Dean," the elder Winchester brother did not look up when Sam came to crouch beside him, Gabriel perched on his shoulders looking more than a little worse for wear. He didn't want to look at the fledgling.

Because Castiel was not like Gabriel, trapped in a child's body, as innocent as his visage. He had not been merely flung around, had his wings broken. Castiel's wings had probably been broken for a long time. And he'd been stabbed straight through with the blade of an angel. His Grace was gone, scattered to the far ends of the world.

His _Grace_.

Dean's head jerked up, nearly colliding with Sam's chin and making the younger stumble and fall on his butt in surprise, mouth hanging open as his brother stared up at him with such a blatantly hopeful expression he almost wanted to cry. "His _Grace_" Dean said breathlessly. "I didn't see his Grace leave him, did you? No wing imprints, no light, nothing!"

Sam gasped, realization hitting him like a brick with wings. There hadn't been- there was still a chance then, wasn't there, that something could be done? There had to be. Just one small chance was all they needed. "Wha-Yeah! His Grace, what's left of it anyways, must still be inside of him! I don't know how he kept it in, but-" He paused, a smile lighting his face, "Way too go there, Cass. We knew we couldn't give up on you just yet."

"Like I ever would," Dean grinned. His hands fluttered to cover the wound on Castiel's chest, breathless hope coursing across his body, "Right. Let me think then, there has to be something we can do and-"

"Happily ever after."

Dean blinked, turning slowly to stare up at Gabriel, his face buried in Sam's mop-hair. The words were soft, barely above a mumble, but he heard them all the same. "What? Say that again Gabriel?" he prompted gently.

"And they lived happily ever after," Gabriel murmured into Sam's hair, hands twisting the collar of Sam's jacket.

"Gabriel is still exerting a certain amount of power within the area, whether he knows it or not," Sam whispered in half-awe, the gears of his mind churning so hard Dean swore he could hear them grinding together. "Which means that the laws of fairytales should still work. So somehow . . ." He trailed off, a hand to his chin as he thought, probably turning the mental pages of storybooks in his head.

Fairytales.

Snow White.

Sleeping Beauty.

They were clues, parts of a key, Ash had said. And if he could just remember how those particular tales had gained a happy end . . . "Hey Sam, um, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, how did they get their happily ever afters, exactly?"

Sam stared at him with "Bitch Face Number Four." AKA, Typical "My Brother Is A Moron" face. "You don't remember? They were both in like, a state of suspended animation of sorts and were woken by . . ." His eyes widened, and Dean held his breath, waiting for the inevitable. "Oh, whoa . . . You don't think . . ."

"Just say it," Dean muttered.

"True Love's First Kiss?" Sam squeaked, his face frozen halfway between mortification and amusement.

"Damn it. I was afraid you'd say that," Dean's shoulders hunched and he cursed loudly. This was not good. At all. Not one bit.

Sam blinked, tilting his head to the side, "Why? It shouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, its _Cass_, Dean. I've seen the eye-fuck thing you two've done since the moment you met. I'm not stupid."

Dean tensed, glaring at his brother with a look that could kill, if Sam hadn't been accustomed to such a thing after years and years of it. "Dude, sexual frustration and bromance are _not_ love." He ignored the way Sam giggled at both terms. "It has to be love, right? I can't-" _I'm not capable of real love._

"True love," Sam corrected sternly. "And dude, it's our only shot at the moment. Just think of it like this," he held up a hand, palm turned upwards as if holding one half of an invisible scale on it, "You kiss him, there's a good chance Cass lives to fight another day, and you can work out your homoerotic issues another day." The other hand rose, copying the motion, "Or you don't do anything, and he dies here and now from blood loss. Your decision, man."

That was not a very good pair of options, Dean thought with annoyance. His hand fell to Castiel's face, pushing back some mused hair from his forehead with a resigned sigh. Damn it, Cass, this had better work.

Slowly, Dean leaned down, licking his lips nervously before he closed the distance, kissing the lifeless angel hard. _Please work, please work, please work._ True love, be damned. If this wasn't true than he didn't know what else was. The very thought made Dean's heart shudder with anguish. That if he thought this now, and Castiel didn't wake up, he didn't know what he'd do.

_Oh, god. Cass, please._

The faint rise of Castiel's chest under Dean's other hand made the Hunter's heart leap, and he pulled back until his forehead brushed against the angel's, watching the color seep back into his cheeks, his breath puffing out against Dean's lips just before his blue eyes cracked open. He gasped, chest heaving as though he'd just broken free from the bottom of the ocean, eyes widening as he noticed Dean hovering all too close. "Dean . . .?"

"Hey," Dean smiled, blinking back the (very manly) tears from his eyes with a choked sound of relief, "Welcome back, Cass."

Castiel moved as if to try and sit up, but Dean held him down, fingers of one hand still over the hole in the angel's chest, though he could feel it sewing back together under his touch. "Dean, what- how did I-" He was silenced as Dean smirked, inclining his head down again and repeating his earlier motion, with a much more conscious recipient this time.

"Later. I'll explain later. Just . . ." Dean punctuated each word with a kiss, ignoring Sam's enormous grin somewhere to his left, "Just go with it for now."

The angel nodded, meeting Dean halfway with strangled groan. Sam rolled his eyes, feeling as if this had been a long time coming and neither had ever realized it. "Idiots," he chuckled.

"Idiots," Gabriel mimicked.

"I heard that!" Dean snapped, looking up for half a second before returning to his earlier task. Sam snorted, but smiled as he saw Castiel's hands find purchase against Dean's shoulders, unconsciously falling over the burned imprint just beneath the cloth. Maybe things were finally starting to look up.

Part 7 Notes: THIS was the scene I imagined when I first saw the prompt. It all worked up to this. Dean's still afloat in the river of denial, however. Poor, oblivious fool. And I know Seraphim_Grace requested more angst than happy, but since it was a fairytale-ish prompt, I went with an ending like this. For now. Tho I'm an angst fan myself. Lol.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Title: **__**Open Pages**_

_**Author: **__1_with_Russia (Kari Kurofai on )_

_**Recipient: **__seraphim_grace__**Pairing: **__Dean/Castiel, implied Crowley/Bobby, suggested Gabriel/Sam__**Rating: **__T__**Warnings: **__Angst. Possible season 6 spoilers. Vague fairytale references, British demon gay-ness, and a relationship that could be seen as slightly pedo-ish. If you're a perv like that.__**Spoilers: **__All of S5, and the beginnings of S6 from what we've been lovingly spoiled with so far. :]__**Word Count: **__36,317 (Last I checked. And that's total)__**Notes/Prompt(s): **__"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-"Except what, Geralt?""It has to be true love." _excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski**Summary: **_Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. _

_In April of the year 2010, Castiel the angel Fell. In May of the year 2010, he was restored to power and he returned to his rightful and well earned place in Heaven. _

_This is a story of choices. _

**Open Pages**

**Epilogue**

Dean had never been much of a morning person. That was more of Sam's job. But he did like coffee. Lots and lots and lots of coffee. Castiel knew this far too well, it seemed, as Dean was starting to become accustomed to waking to the smell of a fresh pot brewing downstairs in Bobby's kitchen. Angel-made and ready to serve.

He wandered downstairs, rubbing a hand over his eyes with a yawn. "Bit early today Cass," he muttered. "I thought you had a big epic Heaven thing to do last night."

"Sorted and taken care of," Castiel replied smoothly, pouring some of the fresh coffee into a mug and handing it to Dean as he stumbled towards him, "And besides, today is an important day."

"Please don't tell me you have some secret angel-birthday I didn't know about," Dean grumbled into his mug, taking a sip and wincing at the way it scorched the tip of his tongue, "cause then I'll feel really guilty for not knowing about it."

"No," the Hunter couldn't help but look up, hearing the smile in Castiel's voice before he saw it. It was mesmerizing to him, the renegade angel's emotions. They weren't perfect, those little smiles, but they were real. And Dean lo-something-ed them. A lot. Yeah, that was it. Something . . .

He smiled back, "So what is it then?"

Castiel pulled up a chair beside him at the small dining room table, hands folding on the surface of the wood. "Gabriel's wings have finally healed all the way."

Dean blinked, confused for a long moment before he noted the faint flash of excitement in Castiel's eyes. "Wait. So if his wings are healed, then- No way. Does Sam know?"

"Sam is already outside," Castiel murmured, amused. "Would you like to see?"

Dean whooped, jumping to his feet and rushing towards the door, the angel following at a much more relaxed pace. Just on the outskirts of Bobby's scrap yard was a small field, the grass browning in the fall air, but still soft underfoot. Dean went and stood on the edge of it, raising an eyebrow at the two lawn chairs that had been placed there before opting to remain where he was.

Outside on the grass Sam ran, Gabriel in his arms. He was yelling something to the little fledgling that Dean couldn't catch over the dull roar of the late autumn wind, and before the Hunter could react, he tossed the former Trickster up into the air. Gabriel flapped his dark feathered wings, a few stray bandages still stuck to some of his inner down. Once, twice, three times before he tumbled back towards the ground, Sam catching him with ease.

"Whoa," Dean gasped, watching in awe as his brother repeated the motion, throwing Gabriel into the air and hovering underneath him as the child beat his wings towards the sky before faltering and falling back down once again. "He can really fly with those then?"

"His body has not forgotten how. He will be able to, given time," Castiel said easily. "He is still an angel after all."

"So are we going to have to teach him everything all over again?" a voice spoke up behind them, annoyed sounding as one of the lawn chairs creaked dangerously, the item as old as anything else in Bobby's house.

Dean rolled his eyes, glancing over his shoulder. Crowley had taken up root in one of the chairs, arms held away from his body at an uncomfortable looking angle. The bandages across his chest were still visible through the light button up he wore, and Bobby stood near the other chair, one hand on the demon's shoulder as if he'd just been helping him to take a seat. He probably had. "What's it to you? We don't need your help," he said gruffly, earning a glare from Bobby.

Crowley snorted, "As if I was going to give it. I was asking for your _brother's_ sake you bloody fool." He shrugged, leaning back in the chair with a sound somewhere between a sigh and a relieved groan. Of all of them, Crowley was going to take the longest to recover. The Deavas had done a number on him that could not be healed with demon mojo alone, as he and the enemy had been woven from the same cloth. But he hardly complained about it, except to Dean, saying over and over how he'd nearly died in an effort to resolve his and Castiel's issues, and yet besides a kiss or two, nothing even mildly interesting had happened. At all.

"The longer Gabriel stays like this the harder it will be on Sam," the demon went on. "He needs to get his memories back and return to the form he was meant to be in, one way or another."

"We can do that," Castiel spoke up. Watching as Gabriel took to the air again, a gust of wind catching the underside of his wings and giving him enough lift to soar higher. Sam shouted for joy, racing along underneath him with his hands in the air. "We have time."

Dean smiled, reaching out to touch Castiel's shoulder briefly, a fleeting contact that made his spine tingle. "Exactly. We have time," he murmured. Time to figure things out, to heal, and to restore things to the way they were always meant to be. He needed the time, just to think things over. Where he stood now and where he'd stood before were two totally different places, and he wanted to sort through the shit that piled up between them before he made any drastic decisions.

Castiel turned to look at him, face betraying nothing to anyone but Dean, who easily recognized the spark in the other's pure blue eyes. "Yes, we have time," the angel repeated. His hand brushed against Dean's and the Hunter grinned, tangling their fingers together.

"Get. A. Room," Crowley drawled, gazing at them with half-lidded, dissatisfied eyes. Dean merely laughed, the sound echoed by his brother as he caught Gabriel when the fledgling fell again. Yes, for now they could just take a few days to relax. After all, they deserved it, just this once.

_"There is a grain of truth in every fairy tale" said the witcher quietly. "Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven't arrived at anything except that-_

_"Except what, Geralt?"_

_"It has to be true love." _

excerpt from **The Last Wish** by Andrzej Sapkowski

Part 8 Notes: AKA, the epilogue. Mostly this part was written just to show that everything is okay for now. Maybe not solved, as it's kinda clear Dean is still being an indecisive stick in the mud, despite what the kiss proved in the previous part. And that Gabriel is still trapped in his child appearance. Which means . . . A SEQUAL. Originally, the fic was supposed to solve all that, and was going to be 15 parts. But freshman year of college is more crazy than I realized. So I cut it down to ten. And THEN my computer got this virus that ate some of the parts and set me back only a week before the deadline, which sucked. So it ended up being like, seven and a half parts.

So of course there's going to be a sequel. After all, there was no sex. Foolish mortals.

ANYWHO . . . I hope you liked it, Seraphim_Grace. Cause it was a pain in the butt. I loved doing ot anyways tho. But I think the Crossing The Inferno fans are prob pissed at me. Lol. I'll get on that right now, mon amis. After I sleep. For a looong time.

THANKS so much to Katherine, Brittany, and BlackRosesOfTheGrave for being patient betas and giving me crit when my plot was a bit weak. And staying up to ungodly hours of the night to help me meet the deadline. LOVE U GUYZ!


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